Is there anyone at home,
are you there?
A tentative touch,
on the edge of conscious self.
An opaque sphere guarding realities,
where once the was no barrier.
I know this side,
knew the other,
like to think I do.
A bubble in the world that grew,
from secrets and confusion.
Maybe it was always there,
I can't remember back before time.
Moving slightly triggers a change,
into a perfect mirror.
I move closer, drawn if you like,
a moth to a flame.
Seeing my reflection I am scared,
realising I don't know any more.
Which way the surface curves,
it's boundless plane, towering.
Stretching so far it hurts my senses.
The edges lost in past and future.
Who is prisoner, is it me?
Trapped in this reality.
(c) 27 October 1998 16:00, Fnagaton.