Soul's Husk
Glimpses of the remnants…
Like brief reflections in a window:
the haunting image a revelation;
a sudden chill in your reality
Those eyes staring back are not your own.
Cold truth veiled beyond stained glass eyes:
You have journeyed over a wasteland,
all purpose now but a mirage.
By instinct you steadily crawled forth
until oblivion inevitably consumed you.
You are but the shadow that escaped.
You are only the phantom
by whom my hands are stained red.
Your whispers exist only in my dreams.
You are not real… You. Are. Not. Real…
Can I find footprints long erased
by the scorch of time?
Can the soft, deceptive moonlight
return what was stolen
from my soul’s husk?
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