Here. I. Sit. In pause, In consideration, In fear, In doubt, But all in hope. For to the left is the man I see, To my right is the man I perceive, But in front of me is the man in reality. For within the mirrors in between these lies, A man who is skeptical. A man who is reserved. A man who is vulnerable, But to who? Or by whom? A man who is estranged, Once again I ask - who or by whom? A man who is loved, But does he truly love... Himself? Others? Or does he feel anything, at all? A man who is humble, However doesn't think himself humble enough. A man whose voice is a stranger to himself, For the crowd chooses to speak for him. The crowd of people of his own mind, And the voices of those who overshadow him either by choice of circumstance, He knows them all. A man who is restless, But wishes to sit still, Beside a lone candle In the innermost room where his heart resides. A man who has potential, That he both fears and years For uncertainty, he knows not...where to start. A man who craves for tranquility Yet by these mirrors, he sits on hot coals, And lets it bury itself into his stomach, But he never lets the poison go. A man who desires for renewal, To be washed by waters that never dry up. To be torn from the flesh, And only be regarded by his soul. But where does that lead him to? A man who acknowledges the mirrors in front of him, He believes he does, But what is to be said Of the mirrors behind him? Or of those beyond his reach? And that is what lies ahead. In front of us is a human...child. To the right of us, a hypocrite. And to the left, a servant. But in time, In trials, In faith, In love, In endurance, All. shall. rest.