There’s a hint of moving lava
underneath my placid sea.
My eyes, mirrors of the soul,
do not show all they see.

Listen carefully,
if I talk to myself,
for I know many secrets,
though never disclose
those trusted to me.

Ask the right question
and the answer may surprise you.
I either speak much,
or not at all;
silence can speak volumes
more than words.

I am a child of the past,
but a herald of the future.
Who am I?
I cannot answer,
for I shift before your eyes
and each moment I am not the same.

I know my companions
better than they know
for they cannot see
how much I absorb.

I can often answer
before you ask,
for the question
is written in your eyes.

You cannot box me under a name.
I will wriggle out
the moment you label it.
If I seem far away,
look closer,
and recognize yourself.

I see others
through a crystal lens,
though my reflection
seems fogged with steam.

Everything I write has
a deeper meaning.
Judge not by what it seems.

I pluck words from
a well with a bottom hardly
within reach.
I know not what lurks
within those depths.


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Copyright ©1994 by Lindsey Schocke. All rights reserved.
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