(revised 2/02)
I stare out at the world beyond the window.
My image ghosted on the glass stares back.
I wonder which of me reflects the truth;
which has substance, which is merely light
and shadow. I turn my face I look away,
waiting for my shade to disappear.
I used to think that I could disappear
and drift like smoke through the open window,
an insubstantial mist and fade away.
Invisible. Til something pulled me back,
forced me into shape beneath the light
of callous reason in the guise of truth.
I cannot reconcile this view of truth.
If all my childhood dreams must disappear,
I'll drown in murky waters where no light
can reach, a room without a single window--
a soul without hope. I turn my back
on this barren future, walk away.
I cannot hide I cannot run away
and dwell alone inside a sheltered truth.
Small hands pluck at me they pull me back
to tasks undone. They will not disappear.
And so I draw the shades across the window
as evening comes. I turn on one bright light.
To hold the darkness back takes just one light--
a single flame to push the night away.
Its beacon shines far beyond my window,
illuminates this one clear certain truth:
That even if the stars all disappeared
our memories alone would bring them back.
I will not close my eyes or turn my back
on darkness. It so swiftly swallows light
if your vigilance should disappear.
Then all of our life's work would fade away.
Who would remain to testify to truth?
Who would stand guard beside the window?
My reflection in the window smiles back.
We know the truth: we embody light
and dark. Push one away, the other disappears.