Friday, 18 January 2013

The Face In The Mirror

In this vial, I have distilled, the essential essence
Of me
I have dabbled and rattled about and lost hours of repose
For you to open your eyes
And see

This is me.

A subtle and quiet machine, playing thoughtful motes of polite
Standing to the side, not out in front, a master of

This is me.

The quiet one, the silent one, the dreamer; the deep wending river
Child of the moon, with that restless curiosity tempered through
With the light tentative tread of the uninitiated and circumspect
But if the hearth is built, the fire minded
If the walls of trust patched and mended
Surely, out of the shadows and out of the cold
This Traveller shall arrive
To share the warmth and laughter
To awaken and become alive.