The Twin

I look with eyes that are not my own,

And listen, with ears beyond my hearing.

The hidden man looks out,

Staring at his second nature,

While the wildness in me rises.

In tidal flows of grief, I wait,

Anxiously wishing to run and hide.

To be, instead, pulled back by the look

Of my truest self, and tremble,

Tremble with potential's fear.

Here he passes very near,

This one whom I have never met.

But who, I have, from time to time,

Caught glimpses of, in haunted visions,

down hidden corridors.

Where wounds become wombed, birthing compassion.

Above tidal flows of grief, he stands,

My secret self, my twin.

A warrior born, to serve the sacred King,

Who by waking the King, restores his kingdom.

Oh Errant Knight, Wild shadow of my Soul.

R.P. Starbuck

Copyright 1991, 2002