Friday, August 22, 2008

Don't See Me

They don't,
can't see me,
perhaps refuse.
What are we if not
reflectionsof action
as seen through others?
Whether beautiful or plain,
if we are alone in that image
then appearances are for nought.
We are but painting upon the wall.
It is a lonely existence held in glass,
I spent my life looking in empty mirrors-
A ghost at worst and a wraith at best.
So many men, so many starless nights,
flooded with moonlight upon my skin
and reflected with empty eyes
after all tears were spent.
You took my blank page,
you painted a story,
revealed my face
with your eyes.
You saw me.

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