Dreams of the Blessed and Damned

Last night I dreamt of a man gifted, with mind sound and friends the best; others' hearts and spirits he lifted, this dreamt man surely blessed. Last night I dreamt of a man cursed, with regrets like doors to the past slammed; of circumstance low was he well versed, this dreamt man surely damned. The blessed met me in a green wood, and gestured toward a clear pool; peering in, I saw vicarious memories of good, of helping, of building, of fighting the cruel. He spoke to me in a familiar voice, told of himself, his plans, his past; gave cause to remember and rejoice, that some, like this dreamt man, yet stand fast. The damned met me on a sepulchral city street, and gestured toward an open doorway; peering in, I saw vicarious memories of defeat, of falling, of trying, of walking astray. He too spoke to me in a familiar voice, told of himself, his plans, his past; cautioned to be careful of every choice, that some, like this dreamt man, know doubt vast. The blessed and damned met me after in an empty room, and bade me think on the reflections and words of both; demanded that I ruminate before wakefulness I was to resume, desired that I leave with a level of wisdom and growth. After much thought, I had a terrible insight, saw how easily one could become another; on one road lay redemption, the second plight, each path already walked by the other. With this hope and fear in equal measure given, the blessed and damned produced a glass with a shine; stood abreast and made whole the mirror riven, and the face inside, in the end, was mine.