I am a plane of silvered glass, A silent, steady gaze. I do not keep the things that pass, I only frame their fleeting phase. I have no memory, no will, No face I call my own, Just light to catch and light to spill, On a canvas of cold stone.
You come to me in morning’s haste, A stranger to yourself, To mend the parts that feel misplaced, A book put back upon a shelf. You search my depths for some new line, A worry that is thine alone, And for a moment, you are mine, A fleeting guest upon a throne.
I’ve held the bride in clouds of white, Her joy a brilliant flare. I’ve held the widow in the night, And worn the shape of her despair. I’ve seen the child, with wondering eyes, Discover their own small surprise, And watched the cocky youth devise A universe of charming lies.
I drink your sorrow, wear your dread, I mock the tear you try to hide. I know the words you leave unsaid, The brittle fortress of your pride. But all this feeling, fierce and true, Can never break my surface through. I show the outer part of you, But cannot feel the way you do.
The dust motes dance, the seasons turn, The wallpaper begins to fade. You are the lesson I can’t learn, A fragile, changing masquerade. And when you leave and shut the door, When all the light and life withdraws, I hold the empty room once more, And wait for you, without a cause.
Pam Beach ‘Beyond the Blog’
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