My face is the Moon, half-cut in darkness,
A mask of the void reflecting a light,
A mystery evoked, I seek my own meaning,
Creating an idol of idle pursuit.

My path to attention is guardedly jealous:
To none admit entry, my true self is sealed.
The secrets I hold are jealously guarded,
Yet by this means all may be revealed.

On pedestalled thrones my desires I raised up,
But as Psyche at night, to my own trap I fell.
Do gods, I wonder, high on Olympus,
Look down and see me, ensorcelled in Hel?

Am I a shadow, a chained immortal,
Or just a memory, simply invisible?

(Written August 15, 2020)