I prayed that I might find myself,
staring into a shining mirror,
gazing past reflective image,
seen true, abstractly clear,
wondering just who,
was staring, looking back?
Recalling participles too,
supported by a sloping cantle,
placed upon that skinny mantle,
up on a tilted shelf,
I hoped that lack of pilgrimage,
might help repel the black.
Those words of fear,
clutched so near,
that life itself be lost,
along with joyful tears,  
beyond the ghastly scrimmage,
such a lasting, fateful cost.