Veil of Mirrors
The vaguest of reflections blur
Along the smokey windowpane.
A child sits across from you,
On the other side
Features hidden by the dappled light.
A wall of glass, a veil of mirrors,
Separates the two of you.
You sit here among texts and books,
While the child sprawls on sunlit grasses,
And laughs between the pool of crystal,
And the ceiling of the dragonfly.
You sit here and you wonder why,
You cannot be the one
Who sprawls and laughs and lays in the sun,
Instead of sits and studies
For what may or may not come.
It is easy to wonder and wonder and wonder,
Yet much harder to go and search
For a door, a gap, a crack in the walls,
That form your messy bookshelves,
And hide you from the sun.
And harder still it is,
To even go and consider
Cracks along the windowpane,
Which holds you away from dappled grasses,
And pools of molten crystal.
Should the veil between
You and the bright wild child
Shatter when you will it,
Would the shards slice open your heart,
Or just merely your hands?
And if there was no more distinction,
Between the here and there,
The inside and the out,
Could you still find your way
Back to the books and dusty tables,
Or would you be lost once more
In the big wide open world,
With bees that sting and thorny roses
And the wild dogs that bite and tear?
I suppose the real question here
Is would it be worth it in the end,
To break the smokey windowpane,
To see the world with your own two eyes,
And risk being blinded by the light?
