Posts Tagged ‘reflection’

The New Year is but an hour away.

Minutes separate myself

from a new sun- that new jewel

set into its old, black, stone broach-

and my changing life.

 

I have yet to empty my lungs

of old breath.

Have yet to empty my mind

of new doubts,

the kind that are common this time of year.

I have yet to purge my body

of sins well aged, like fine wine

(they lingered even on Christmas Day).

 

And so the clock and calendar eye me

with regret. And I sigh,

slump into the sofa,

play with my old thumbs,

and smile in spit of the fact

that what’s to come

is as unknown to me

as the source of this burgeoning sense of hope.

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No ripples in the lake.
No mirrors, only white walls.
Something’s missing from the shelf…
A face like wax paper.
A name as common as air.
The line’s been drawn,
there’s no turning back.

In the dead of night I wake

and go to the mirror.

All is black except

for the yellow light between my reflection

and the real me.

What I see in the mirror is

two halves.

I am flesh on one side,

phantom on the other.

Oh, but this is frightening!

None could understand it,

for even barely do.

My right half is frail and frightened,

brown dots and blemishes rising

from pale skin to pronounce

this look of fear.

But the phantom on the left side of me

smirks. It is more solid than my right half,

it is iron!

No matter how warm and wistful my right side:

unfolding one palm upward, like a flower,

an offering to a warm and delicate, feminine hand;

my left side sneers revealing its serrated teeth,

the marks of its ferocious appetite

with white drool streaming from inside its maw,

but all the while an innocent lily-like glow

in its eye.

What is this apparition?

A manifestation of internal struggle?

Hallucination? Nightmare?

Or is it merely what I’ve written it to be?

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Posted: October 22, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

In the morning

I wake,

and tell myself that things will be different.

I move about,

eating, speaking, blinking sleep from my eyes.

Then I move into noise

and light–

bright, blinding light, and loud, cacophonous noises.

Through it all I am unheard.

Not heard when screaming, not seen when in the open.

In solidarity I find

myself staring into the mirror

and seeing the face that others ignore.

I don’t speak;

I don’t think;

I simply stare.

And in the pale mirror I find

the merest trace of hope–

some recognition from warm, golden sunlight

in a simple reflection.