We each of us maintain a set of images which we preserve for "show". Those selves of ours which we display depending on a given set of circumstances.
There is a risk that such images, like wayward Adams and Eves, go their own ways - leaving us without the means of communicating with those around us.
It was with a sense of that happening, at a point in my life, that the following was penned. That goes some way to accounting for the tone of despair to be heard in the last lines.
Darkness to Light, Day from Night
And I was.
No antelope raised its head
No pendulum checked its marking of time
Perhaps a mirror cracked
Which would explain
the many reflections that are mine.
In fact just aids
To Life, to living
Like that of Friday's child
But while the images dance
Changing to meet each challenge
It can get lonely here
Here at the center of a Universe
And it empty.