Mirrors
What is the end of your day?
Do you fade into nighttime or toil away?
I believe I was put here to worry and wait
We fail to make up for what we cannot name
Are you true to whatever you do?
Or are you scared to bring light to your own misery?
You're so wrapped up in your history that I never see you here
Think of me when you're painting mirrors by moonlight
I'll hold every clock hand to midnight
We've all got things to fear
What is the end of your week?
Some wait for romance to play out like a scheme
Others wake Sunday and need to believe
That their part in the system is what makes them free
But I'm just in need of some truth
I know it's here, but there are so many distractions
And when you're blinded by every refraction you can't focus on the light
You'll drown in fear, just remember we are all scared, too
Don't neglect the ground we're all bared to; your roots will give you life
I'm lost in the aisles, crossing the lines left behind in some gold-leafed illumination
I guess I'm better left to temptation, bared to the ground
A fool, no ascetic, I wander around
I spew the hermetic and never expound, still it feels like I'm homeward bound
And what are you to do when the working day catches up with you, a thirsty seed?
I will lend a hand if you need: the running water to your olive tree
What is the end of your day?
Are you slave to those mirrors your form fills with shame?
I meant to free you from those frames but their gleaming has stolen us away