deepundergroundpoetry.com

My Mirror.

My Mirror faithfully reflects  
then, having pondered shows aspects  
of self unseen in other's eyes  
ah, but then, my glass never lies.  
                            ii  
I gaze into that scene within  
with me without and looking in  
wondering what might come to pass  
it two were there seen, lad and lass.  
                            iii  
I angle for another look  
and find not self but Eastern Suq  
no painting this, but moving frame  
of Eastern Delight, of worldly fame.  
                            iv  
At first in two dimensions seen  
then glass, like water dripping clean  
away, till all surrounds my sight  
ear and nose with Eastern delight.  
                            v  
What magic this has my glass done  
to place me under Eastern sun  
my pallid features, winter clothes  
amusing now, an Eastern beau?  
                            vi  
Sound and clamour surround us both  
buyers, sellers, bargainers loath  
to pay full price, all uncouth joy  
but dimly heard by girl, by boy.  
                            vii    
Neither as yet far into teens  
unburdened by unfulfilled dreams,  
and each from each took proffered hand  
in that far away, romantic land.  
                            viii  
And I in thick knit trews and brogues      
amid ten thousand folk in robes  
flowing cloaks and sandaled feet  
many miles from Regent Street.  
                              ix  
But I can feel the quickening blood  
in calm acceptance where we stood  
acknowledgment that each had found,  
a twin soul on common ground.  
                                x  
We wandered quietly, hand in hand  
at peace with each on desert sand,  
and of the many stalls passed by  
here, in frames, glass, for all to eye.  
                                xi  
And there I saw its blackened back  
hanging, twisting slow, that same crack  
it slowly turns to show my face,  
framed in frigid room, not market place.  
                                xii  
In an instant it is all gone!  
the torrid heat, the wail of song,  
and at my back a freezing room,  
reflecting silence to this loon.  
                              xiii  
With leaden heart but quick hand  
I pack a bag for desert land  
my only spur a reddened brow,  
and eyes that mirrored, mirrored vows...
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 5 reading list entries 0
comments 9 reads 310
Commenting Preference: 
The author is looking for friendly feedback.

Latest Forum Discussions
COMPETITIONS
Today 1:45pm by DaisyGrace
COMPETITIONS
Today 1:27pm by WillowsWhimsies
SPEAKEASY
Today 12:46pm by The_Darkness_Insid
SPEAKEASY
Today 12:43pm by nightbirdblue
COMPETITIONS
Today 12:24pm by Razzerleaf
POETRY
Today 11:05am by Grace