Mirror, mirror, on the wall—
do you even see at all?
What behind the mirror spies?
Are we looking at our eyes?
What thin shroud has us deluded?
By what God are we occluded?
For some great mystery to solve,
before like sand in glass dissolve?
Like real meshing into naught,
no where and nothing, time forgot.
Here and there a mirrored breeze,
reflecting empty silken seas.
Empty silken seas of sand,
meshing time together, and,
real and nothing pass away;
day by day, it seems to say.
Night by night it seems to shine,
a mystery of the sublime—
beauty in a forest thick,
watching clocks go tick tock tick.
Tick tock tick it talks away,
day after night after day.
Tick by tick into the night,
betraying night to thick sunlight.
Betraying dark, and shadow too,
as the nighttime tends to do.
As newborn light at day will flow,
intriguing us so we may know.
So we might see something so grand,
in every figure, every land;
in each word another says,
still woven by those silken threads.
Silken threads beyond our sight,
beyond daytime, morning light.
Beyond nighttime, twilight too;
what is there left for man to do?
With nothing else for us to see,
no ultimate truth or destiny,
no hate or love or anything,
left to sit alone and sing.
Of our self and songs of old,
in the summer, and in cold.
In a field that shines like glass,
where there we drift into the past.
Mirror, mirror, in the sky,
watching us crawl, and under die;
watching us dance and sing and laugh,
still away fading into past.
As we walk into the now,
into the new, and seeing how.
Back into the darkness peering,
in front of dark shapes, watching, leering.
Into the direction of the new—
with man, alas! Something to do!
Somewhere to go, something to see.
One plus two and two plus thee,
tantamount to destiny.
Tantamount to life itself—
laugh and sing, live, die, or else!
Or else you fritter in the sun,
two minus one minus two plus one!