Walk The Hills Poem by Wes Wilbur

In halls of mirrors dreams are made.
In halls of mirrors we all dream that we create.
Light to dark and dark to light,
take heed of humanities contagious blight.

O'er hills wet and damp, i make to my village like such a lowly tramp.
Every step i take amidst the damp growth,
seems not to exist.

A bath of lillies settled in the valley shines light forth,
it's hard to believe it's so dim that not a man can see
such radience.

I've crossed many paths of this sort before,
truly it is hard to ignore that in the taverns and country stores,
no one knows my name.

Reasons scatter like rumors over this thought.
The reson why nothings the same and nobody has changed is not so simple.

Is everybody charting such a fast course they can't remember where I was the week before?

Or is it simply this
I do not exist.