I fear that waking

is just another dream,

and, like all else,

nothing is what it seems.

I feel in fading sunsets-

Time, is a quiet thief,

and dawn comes with nights' passing

like a soul in silent grief.

I see in dreams a death,

and in death a dream,

and sometimes I see a face

deep in a mirrors' gleam.

I see the details of the face-

sad eyes, a smile that's not unkind,

and with my fingers trace

a face that can't be mine.

A young older woman

who feels the pull

to bargain with the devil

to set the hourglass full.

My soul tells me what it tells me

and the answer I will keep

but I don't know the question-

it's locked away too deep.