Through The Looking Glass Poem by Alexander Thomas

To what end this labyrinth of the heart,
From the mirror of dreams where did it start?
The glass opaque as aged reason blurred,
In the final reflection what will have stared?

Lost in a hall of mirrors and illusions,
A guiding light or fools' delusions?
All around a circus performing,
To a surreal tale transforming.

Our ignorance in this desert blinding,
In the vortex the winds of fate binding,
To what absent audience do I write?
Just to the echoing voices of the night?

By the lion to this stage I am pinned,
Bound to love to what I have sinned,
But with what words can I resurrect,
The peace to which I was forced to reject?

To you down a winding road I was taken,
To a fortune to which I still awaken,
Did you lead me on this path,
To burn me with your wrath?

But in honesty I am not a liar,
To fly with the wings of my desire,
For this was the wind with me you blew,
To what final design to me is still askew.

The flight of imagination on course,
To soar as a butterfly astride a wild horse,
Now with a new wonder of seeing,
A profound shift in my being.

For the blood is of inspiration?
And the fire that of imagination?
As miracles have descended,
Is it only I that has comprehended?

From music and poetry to angels and saints,
An epic love story to the ears of all awaits,
For in the light of love I am not alone,
With faith I am no pretender to the throne.

For who is the figure that my dreams conceal?
And when in day will the face to me reveal?
The time has come for the mirror to shatter,
From behind the glass the truth to clatter.