The Character in the Mirror
The Character in the Mirror
From the moment we knew we would die, we were born a second time in fear,
Self-awareness is a sweet wound, deep and too ashamed to appear,
We invented religions and philosophies so we could live beyond our death,
But the meaning we stitched together from dreams... unravels... with every breath.
The stories we wove all by ourselves have taken over and consumed us,
We live like actors on a stage with no exit door before us,
The character invented in our minds dictates our every step and gesture,
And our lives no longer belong to us... they belong to another... unknown... imposture.
Meaning breaks apart as easily as a dry branch under frozen weight,
And fear grows deeper than before, more strange, more lost, more desolate,
We walk through days wearing the mask of the one we have imagined,
Like shadows chasing a body they have never once inhabited... never inhabited.
The gods were invented from the white terror of a soul alone and stained,
Philosophies grew from the pit where we threw every nightmare we contained,
But the figure conjured in imagination stares at us cold from the mirror,
And we don't know if we are ourselves... or just the story... drawing nearer.
Consciousness is the labyrinth where we lost ourselves searching for sense,
Death waits at the end of every thought... silent... dense... intense... immense... in suspense,
We live inside our character like tenants in a home with no lease or claim,
And we die as ourselves... but we don't know which one... among all our faces... with no name.
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