Through A Looking Glass
Poetry
Poetry
Strange comfort comes from the thoughts I hold.
Like weathered palms, deeply etched with every season past,
these crackled daydreams bear the ravages of time and recrimination.
Faint reflections scrawled on the mind-darkened wall
are wedded like wefts in the weave of the skein.
I see the child that once was me,
remembering a talk that I’d never had,
and fall prey to waking dawn’s deceit.
No white crosses will mark their passing,
just simple memories that drink from a sleepless night.
This was inspired by a chance encounter with my own reflection in a shop window, sparking memories and nostalgia of days long past.
They say the mirror doesn’t lie, and it did not sugarcoat the passing years. The silver strands that now adorn my hair were not hidden, nor were the laugh lines that crinkled at the corners of my eyes. Perhaps these signs of age are badges of honor, evidence of a life fully lived and wisdom earned through the years, but I find that only of little comfort.
Through my eyes, I saw the reflection of a younger self and remembered the dreams I had chased, the love I had found and lost, the battles I had fought, and the victories I had savored—bittersweet nostalgia for the days of innocence, for the boundless energy that once coursed through my veins.
The reflection that greeted me was not the one I had known in my youth
This mirror certainly did not lie, nor did it sugarcoat the passing years.
But still, when I think of the alternative, I am rather happy with what I have!