This is me
In the mirror,
Unless
It is not;
Who can say
One way
Or another?
So I walked through
Shimmers of smooth
Glazed glass
To find out, departed,
Whether I would last,
Assessed my self
And was no better off.
Then you strolled by the mirror
And inside I was trapped.
I rapped against its surfaces
As unmoved you moved by.
I had to bear witness
As you lived
And you died;
I slumped behind that dreary
Veneer
And for several years
Here and there
Cried.
I found a way,
To step around that mortal frame,
And could see myself there,
I appeared just the same
As I watched myself say
“This is me
In the mirror,
Unless
It is not;
One way
Or another,
Who can say
And who cannot?”
This is a quirky wee poem. Philosophical too. Very good.
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