There is a time for rhyme,
And then there is another time.
There is a face I show,
And in another place,
Another face to see
And then there's me.
Is it me that in my rhyme I see,
Or do I lie?
What shall I be?
The mirror stands before,
Its image I ignore.
I wear a mask,
And still I ask,
What can this wretched creature be?
I seek a key to set me free,
But still the door lies open.
The way is marked with lantern clear
But still I stumble.
These words they trickle from my mind
In permutated jumble.
The truth I see,
The words aren't me,
But I am my word's decree.
Greg Davidson's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (An Introspection by Greg Davidson )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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