In The Face Of The Unknown
There is a scratching at my door.
I know not why it chose me, or what it beckons for.
And I may open to a kitten, pining with it’s paw.
Or usher in the lions, to lacerate with tooth and claw.
So I dare not move, but listen
– For the scratching at my door.
There is a letter on my chair.
I know not where it came from, or why it settles there.
I may open to a fortune, to one I long have loved.
Or find inside but bitterness, and only pain to speak of.
So I turn my head to shelter
– From the letter on my chair.
There is light upon my window.
I know not why it dazzles, or gratifies me so.
I may stare, content, for ever, with blissful, open eyes.
Just to let its beauty blind me, as a common fool, not I.
And so I dwell amid the darkness, clinging to my soul.
Shadowed from the beauty
– Of the light upon my window.