I’ve often cause to wonder, when in lucid dreams I stray,
I seem as always I have felt,
The rounded chin, the wrinkles melt.
This other self in dreams appears still young and slim today?
No. More than this.
Though it’s me, yet bones more slight, the eyes more free,
Familiar as a glance may be, me … yet not me.
“Why?” I ask.
A dream voice answers, clear as a bell.
“You’re in disguise, ’tis but a shell.”
I ponder then upon my bed disguises others bear.
The crippled form, the ugly face,
May one day be interfaced
True beauty hid within a husk
That one day shall be turned to dust.
On that day we shall see.
Just what was hid from you and me.