Monday, November 21, 2005

The Puddle

(This is a poem I wrote a long, long time ago. Somehow, today, it's appropriate.)

THE PUDDLE

The reflection I see
isn’t crystal clear
its hazy and tired
and stares back in fear.

Its scared of the days
and cries in the night
too afraid to argue
of what’s wrong or right.

It doesn’t know the difference
between fiction and fact
of the pictures
the mind's eye snaps.

Its inventful and cunning
smart but left unheard
for it has no mouth
and speaks not a word.

It has no eyes
nor any ears either
but there’s its face
staring back at me in the mirror.

I won’t look, I can’t look
the reflection’s not me.
One drop, then two,
the tears are set free.

The reflection is distorting.
The drops are coming fast.
I look up
and the cloud stares back.

The little mirror shakes
with ripples in the wind.
My mirror is a puddle.
My reflection is no more again.

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