Poetic Riddle

A reflective poem that asks a question which is physically hidden in the poem.

These words before you are but a key,
  to a gently riddled tale.
Letters can answer this mystery,
  can you see beyond their veil.

Eyes are but windows into a soul,
  a passage into the past.
What has been, is what was stole,
  the lot of which fortune cast.

Weary for what I've seen through the years,
  tired behind a smile
For lashes seldom forget their tears,
  of those who did beguile.

This path called life, I've journeyed alone,
  wandering the forest deep.
Seeking a man who is yet unknown,
  searching my reflection's keep.

My solitude can melt with a glance,
  if you can see through this guise.
How I open isn't quite by chance,
  the answer before your eyes.

Look a little deeper.
Only then you'll see.
Volumes have been spoken.
Enduring gentle plea.

Maybe looking down, you'll see through these tricks,
End's beginnings in the number of six.