Strolling through a corridor late at night,
The tired eyes catch a fleeting speck of light,
No sight to be seen, no steps to be heard,
A time so ripe, it’s a time for a word.
For a question lingers deep in the mind,
Of what he now is, a beast of some kind?
For doubt blurs his vision, fear grips his mind.
Are his good deeds an excuse for his crimes?
For a hand of one lost he brought to light,
Shared his love, his time, she made his life bright,
But his mind grew weary, his feelings did fade,
His hand slipped, for his heart his mind betrayed.
For hands if held, feels a lie to his self,
But left to slip ’way, betrayal it felt,
What do his eyes see, a question that haunts,
A plaything of his, to satisfy pride?
For the strings are taut, the mind in turmoil,
The fine image of self, brought slow to nought.
His face a facade, his acts a charade,
In the silent corridor, a mirror cracks.
Jan 27
Jan 27, 2026 at 3:33 PM UTC
Strolling through a corridor late at night,
The tired eyes catch a fleeting speck of light,
No sight to be seen, no steps to be heard,
A time so ripe, it’s a time for a word.
For a question lingers deep in the mind,
Of what he now is, a beast of some kind?
For doubt blurs his vision, fear grips his mind.
Are his good deeds an excuse for his crimes?
For a hand of one lost he brought to light,
Shared his love, his time, she made his life bright,
But his mind grew weary, his feelings did fade,
His hand slipped, for his heart his mind betrayed.
For hands if held, feels a lie to his self,
But left to slip ’way, betrayal it felt,
What do his eyes see, a question that haunts,
A plaything of his, to satisfy pride?
For the strings are taut, the mind in turmoil,
The fine image of self, brought slow to nought.
His face a facade, his acts a charade,
In the silent corridor, a mirror cracks.
