Glass Stairs

The stairs go ever upward towards….
heaven?
No, certainly not that,
despite the glassy brightness,
despite the glitter and perfectly,
hidden lights.

Mirrors on the walls
show your face,
a distortion,
impossibly twisted,
no less true
for the distortion,
your pain showing
even in your smile,
a weight,

a demon’s possession,
never quite dead,
only held at bay,
able to see heaven’s light,
and almost, only almost
able to claim it.

About This Poem

I took this picture two days ago at the Cosmopolitan in Las Vegas. The single person on the stairs, surrounded by all the light, somehow sang to me, though I was not sure why, or how.

Tom