There are times when it seems the heart of every newborn child
Is none but that of a fresh conspirator,
Its sole aim to vanquish the very whims that keep me from staying here
And thrusting myself into the beyond

Alas, I know not if this beyond does exist
So I search the sky for answers, hoping some divine power will let itself be known
And indulge to me the truths of the world in which I live
The sky is but a looking glass,
Reflecting only my deepest dreams and desires
Trapping me in a world where life is lost as easily as it is made

I want to know and I want to be known
Perhaps it is only madmen who will become known, as they can deeply understand the world
But not take part in it
I fear I am one of those, a being who looks to the world for love and
Is met only with blank stares and blank pages
Pages on which to write away despair
Despair which seems to grow ever larger as my pen progresses across the page

For it takes but an iota of poignancy, a reminder of the wickedness of man
To send a fragile soul into the spiralings of despair
Despair which like an ocean never ceases to create more waves,
Which crash over the heads of monsters eternally trapped within
But what of these monsters?
For a monster made is different than a monster born

I often ponder: which of these is man?
Perhaps he is a pathetic specimen on a path of overall degradation
Or perhaps he was born this way, destined for a path descending into darkness

So again, I ask the sky for answers, and it is but a looking glass
I ask the sun, which coruscates
Attracting the piggish eyes of the planets with its scintillating charisma
It is but a looking glass
So I ask the moon, pale moon, which ever pillages the sun’s glorious light
It is but a looking glass
I turn to every creature or object I know to exist
Each and every one is but a looking glass

Though they infuriate me so
I cannot bear to imagine destroying them
For they are still objects in which I see a comprehending face
They reflect the face of someone I feel I don’t know, but understand

And while they inundate my soul with my own terror, sadness, and despair,
They also reflect something else: light
For a looking glass can hardly function without light
And though it is but a smidge, it has the power to fill me with hope
Hope, the fertile sustenance of life
That separates light from dark, progress from degradation

So the next time I look to the sky, patience shall be my cardinal virtue
I will wait for my answers
For the sky is but a looking glass