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Fictional Dreams

I wander through a hall of mirrors, but the reflection I see is not mine, but a child's. A child lost in the cold darkness of this hall, this wandering. A child looking to me with questions as if I had the answers. A child behind broken glass that I can offer no comfort. Then the child's tears become my own and I at last realize...it is my reflection indeed, and I am humbled and brought low....

The rain taps lightly on the window, and I am caught in the sway of its dripping beat. It takes me back to happier days when music filled my memory and visions poured from my lips. My eyes look into the raindrops, crystaline prophets show me future joys and sorrows, my eyes dance with the sprites inside the raindrops, palaces of fairy creatures and imaginary delights.