Philip Charles Brown

I stared out of the window, my reflection hardly there
I could not find my feature, but still continued to stare
I reached and closed the curtain, and sat upon the floor
I closed my eyes about to sleep, and woke to the opening door
My reflection stood before me, and asked why I had turned
Was it something he had done, or something I had learned?
I closed my eyes to see it, and waited for it to pass
I knew it was my conscience, and not the reflection in the glass