There is a stranger in my house,
Though I know him well.
Great cousin to my Father’s spirit,
And mirror to his touch.

I know his face, his hands, his feet,
But his eyes are like intruders on a hollow night.
His heart only pretending to beat.
Mouth controlled by some strange power.

I remember who he was supposed to be,
Before becoming empty.
Memory tells of a hero that took me to places I’d rather be.
Where whispers spoke of kindness and I was more free.

But now I don’t know him.
Actions a threat to my soul.
Words rend my heart,
When I thought I knew him before.

Perhaps I never did.