Mirror, Mirror On The Wall
What is the mirror but a wall,
a reflection of what was and is
at this very moment, as you look
inside searching for answers. There
are no answers only questions that
dull your eyes and plague your mind.
Why are you looking for doors in solid
stone?
There are no paths, no roads
that lead to anywhere except to those
expanding pupils--the only doors. They open
and close as the light fades to black.
Where is your red-tipped cane blind woman?
You hide behind your dark glasses, stumbling
over each rock on this wayward path. There
is no paradise, no rest. Only the journey remains.
Travel or perish.
Why don't you look at yourself? You are a sight!
Oh, yes, you can't see.
Well, aren't you special?
You, who reaches through the universe
and finds only empty hopes, false ideals,
Why don't you grab your own throat? There's no
pulse there either.
Cold glass dripping with crystal blood crashes
to the floor under your bare feet. Stop!
You may cut yourself.
No fear...there's nothing left of me but drops of moisture.
See me running down the mirror.
I cry.
kathy lockhart
1/14/07
Poetry by Kathy Lockhart
Read 508 times
Written on 2007-01-14 at 22:49
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