After Reading Aubade

Fragments of a life exist yet around me,
I could not tell you for certain they are mine;
They jeer and taunt me from a higher ground
Screaming that their faces be composed.
And I pray that I can do so, fearing that I should be deposed,
But the voices combine to make a sound
So cold and true that I pour forth line after line
of solitude with a prayer that they will become me.