Reflections sway and distort with the coming tide.
Eyes that were familiar drown by the moonlight.
Trapped among reality and mirages -- who to trust?
"I know no one" protests the angry soul
As circumstance and lead crystal steal away the last image of self.
Where is my history and blood-born legacy?
Where has my flowing field of poppies gone?
This is the instance of being without . . .
And knowing nothing but the fact that its inevitable.
