Looking Back

A window watches over me, the eyes in my reflection. I see in them a picture, a world of imperfection. I wonder who would watch me over. Who would look into my eyes? Other eyes without windows would turn away from mine. What reaches that I make would reach into wall. What reaches from a face, I would cower ever far.

What reflections do I see, when gazing not into a mirror? Eyes staring back at me, reflections not of stars. Crowns of many colors, regal they may be. Gemstones hued like rainbows, soul imbued in stone. And in their shining glory: all but my reflection.

"What is it that you seek," I call, "seek you one yourself?" But nowhere reach my words, for I am one myself.

And so I watch a window. A window watches me. I watch my own reflection, the glimmers as they fall. They fall to where no man would be, a spot where none could stand. Yet there I am, and there am I, me is all I see.

So fades my vision, I see but seas of star. And voices calling out to me, but now am I too far. The crowns I see are single hue, voices now a hum. My thoughts I hear as whisper, asking what I've done.