This reflection, feverish with fear. A shattered faith shown through a broken mirror, The candle dances, casting shadows on the wall, The silhouette of obscurity, lost without cause. My shadow will dance, a faint whisper in the night, The truth burns like a furnace, a glimmering light. The smoke will rise, and the tables will turn, When everything’s cleared it will all have been done. Faith worn thin, her soul becomes weak, Hope for the shadow begins to look bleak. It dances more faintly, as the candle decays, To rise through the ashes of all life’s disarray. The candle is dead; smoke will rise to the stars, The shadow once living, no longer resides Within this hole, of perpetual defeat, All of life seems a hopeless disease. She hoped and she dreamed but she never perceived, Not everything she believed would be achieved. Our shadows will fall into darkness with time, We lose ourselves in life’s ongoing rhyme. “Put your faith in me, I’ll guide you home.” She hears it throughout, a monotonous tone. Belief is a weakness, and faith a disease, With one or them both the mind cannot see. My shadow will dance, a faint whisper in the night, Your faith will decay, into your mind peeks a light. My shadow will dance, with yours in the sun, All that I am, would not... could not be undone.