THE MIRROR

A mirror.

Stands in front of you

in whispered silence.

“Today is not

the day,”

they say.

The gremlins creep

from all the corners

of the wall; they sneak

inside to watch

you fret and fright

over little things.

Hobgoblins’ shadows

dance and play over

your midnight sky,

robbing you of

your own accord.

Smug, melting grins.

The faeries come

to blight your ego,

and strike whenever necessary

among the fog

surrounding you; gaping,

fleeting in harmony.

You awaken your own death.

Standing in front of

the mirror. The light glares

at you in so many ways.

The Kingdoms come to

gather your thoughts.

Has he seen but only me?

In all this time,

this wandering through,

has never the image

meant anything to you?

Swallow the guise of wealth and society!

Where do you come,

in the moonlight?

Scouring the planets for

dead like me that have

given up old ways.

Where no one can decide.

I lived, and they all came

in, poking me, teasing me,

trying to make me recede!

But, I held strong to my

inhibitions, and made sanctuary

in the glory of “I don’t care.”

And, I fell alone. Senile.

Misunderstood by my own stealth.

No creeping structures crashed

around when my own walls

came tumbling down.

There was something else.

My power and hunger,

my prayer is over.

No one fed me, or sustained.

I also fed no one, and

hated the silent whispers

always before me.

Your thinking behooves you.

The faeries return, and

laugh in your face!

What better chance for

you to wake up now,

and shatter the dream of the past?

I hear myself whisper, then,

“Today is the day,” and

I soon remember the old ways

when everybody loved, and cried,

before the world had taught each other

how to deny.