Myth
Yesterday, I looked in the mirror,
and I saw, standing in my shoes, a fool.
...A fool searching for hearts,
but without a heart to offer.
Today , I looked into the mirror,
and again, I saw a fool.
A fool waiting for love to come to me,
but with no sign of love in the reflection.
Tomorrow, I don't think I will look in the mirror.
I think I should, instead, look inside,
and see what I have to offer.
Find a way to unlock ancient doors
that hide all hopes and dreams,
cast aside but not forgotten.
The greatest storytellers pull words out of the air
and create pictures so real, they must be true.
For how many years now have I been describing
a gentle heart that, maybe, never existed at all?
Where is my heart, have I hidden it so well
that not even I can find it?
How do I offer what is only
faint memory and myth?
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