The Mirror

We sit together, face to face
Alone in quite, empty space
Alone, unconscious, still I dread,
Alone these thoughts jump in this head.

If I could trace around these eyes
those formless shapes, of which, comprise
the depth our memories echo through,
I would not feel alone with you.

And, somewhere, am I still here.
And knowing not if far or near,
And knowing not who moves this hand,
Not knowing if I understand.

A world lies behind the glass,
reflected, filtered through this mask.
And, thus, I often fail see,
what’s truly real. Image or me?

By O.N.

(Prompt: Reflection)

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