Cards laid out: a tapestry of self,
What does the mirror reveal to you?
I can see motive and pain, loss and gain;
Shifting views seen through a broken lens.
I place one, two, three shards of a fractured mirror,
Can you feel the fear as you behold a fallen self?
Shuffle them once, twice, thrice, how nice!
Look what keeps coming back to tempt and condemn you!
Appearing as an angel of ight,
I grasped the meaning, the insight:
Look deeper still, feel the fright?
Who is now cast into the night?
Are they right, are they wrong?
How often must I sing this song?
I hear a trumpet, the sound of war!
The swords are drawn, but not by king’s might.
“There is death in the pot, O man of God!”
I answer by fire, but the wind was too strong.
I cut up my soul in a million pieces,
Only to chase them down again.
Who will see?
Who will know?
The secrets of my heart, my pain:
Only wind and time can read them again;
Chasing them down was only to my shame.
Dark clouds gather to obscure the sun;
the grave yard was too cold to cast the bones of a Golden Dawn.
The king said, “Come, touch the light of the golden scepter.”
Leon Bahrman