Silvered Glass

There never was true happiness,
He remembered that much;
He could recall a horrifying vision,
An apparition-
A living, breathing carcas
Reflected in that silvered glass-
The rest, he chose to forget,
And probably for the better;
The beginnings of lives are
Not always beautiful.
But now, here, behind
Another silvered glass,
He could see his happiness-
And it came in the form of a woman,
An angel-
Christine . . .
How many times had
He breathed that name,
Finding all his happiness in
One word,
Two syllables?
The golden eyes would
Never tell,
But instead seemed content with
Drinking in her beauty,
Physically and spiritually,
Like a man dying of thirst
Who has just discovered a spring.
Those pale, flickering eyes watched her now,
The only source of joy
Besides his music;
But then again,
Music
Cannot take substance
And love you . . .