For long have I wandered, in search of a place I can call my own For a peace unknown, Where one day I could Rest my bones and be still

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

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 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