Outside, the Tempest looms, forever growing;
With loud ominous Thunder crashing,
Like peals from a thousand bells, tolling;
A Darkness, I have seen never before, encroaching;
Light, now a pale dot, and fast fading.
for i am a drifter,
an aimless wanderer, a rudderless boat,
a sculler who lost his oars
like a driftwood, wait for the river to take me places,
never aware whether am washed ashore or still…
The mirror, the mirror, I stood before.
Clash of light and shadow, an image it bore.
Of me, from me, for me to adore
It may be me, but it’s not Me.
For I am a Poser, a Pretender. Of that I am sure.