The Rift

A book of transcribed poems, left behind by some unknown soul. Lacking in craft, but overflowing with feeling.

I hear footsteps in the night,
but no one draws near.
In the howling wind, I see firelight,
but no fire warms me.

I reach out my hand and touch a stone wall.
The stone wall cracks, revealing an eye.
It watches me, like a mirror,
yet it doesn't show me myself.