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High above the world I fly. What I see you have no words for. You call to me and ask. I reply and you hear only your own voice. I walk among you and you look right through me. You fear me; not for what I have done, but for what you have. There is no veil between us that is not of your own making. I cannot be what I am because I do not ask your permission to be so? So you believe, but your belief changes me not. I am forever beyond your reach, because you will not offer up what you ask. I am a ghost in the world of my own making, because I will not force you to see. Who am I?
© 2001 by D. Ron Mack Written 9/5/2001 |
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