Sitting in the darkness
Of my living room at night
With the curtains open
Blackness outside in sight--
I could make out the shapes
Of landscape known to me,
But when I flicked the light on
Naught but blackness could I see.
It was as if the darkness
Pressed itself against the glass--
And tried to overpower
The light which through it passed.
A mirror it became to me
And seemed to make me feel
The world had gotten smaller--
My room was all that's real.
If I had only stepped outside
And looked back to my home,
I would see that room aglow,
A beacon to all who roam.
