Through the drinking glass, I glance a clue,
A stem of unreality unfolds,
A mere illusion or does this ring true,
And how am I to know which story’s told?
We’ll likely never know while living bold,
Pursuing daily chores, ignoring fate,
Perhaps there’s solace in the fable old,
Of lives repeated, souls reincarnate.
My amber goblet shimmers, captivates,
Reflecting lovely images “en scene”
Of sculpted trees and lakes of silver plate,
That hint of dream existences within.
Returned to this reality, I sense
consoled spirit – faith without pretense.
Photo Friday: #Backlit