Behold the Man

There is something lurking which means me no harm, but wants to see me. It is the unknown demand of the future, the stage.

It is the audience and cameras which demand a performance- the performance of a lifetime.

It is the eyes of the true God, the one that does not feel and leaves his judgement to us.

I feel I am seen in every moment.

Behold I perform in my quiet hours.

Behold the man.

But in reality, there is none. I am seen by my own self and none other.

Then am I truly alone?

What does that dark, faceless man want with my chair and lamp? He is waiting for me to move suddenly or flinch, and then he will pounce.

He is the cascade of sorrow and terror that I am holding at bay without knowing, whose gaze I feel as an anxious but faithful dog awaiting the command to rise and hunt.

When he steps from the shadows, it is with my face, but it is younger and contorted with desolation.