Mirrors Photo

 MIRRORS

I am the man in the varnished door;

created by the moonlight,

afraid to enter.

 

I am the man reflected in my lover’s eye;

if not in her mind.

 

I am the man who reflects his parent’s appearance;

however, possibly not their wishes.

 

I am the man frowning at me from my laptop’s black screen;

I disappear when the machine is awakened,

my self-emancipation.

 

I am the man who is asked to reflect my religion’s morals;

or, in darkness, the lack of them.

 

I am the man who ripples his own image in the pool where he fishes;

or, at times, sits and contemplates while tossing pebbles,

mindful of his problems.

 

I am the man standing in front of the executive washroom sink;

grieving my own loss of morals.

 

I am the man sitting on a park bench;

reflecting on how I squandered,

my life.

 

I am the man whose name and face appear on political posters;

reflecting on my re-election rather than

on my constituents’ needs.

 

I am the man standing at the podium in a liberal college;

deluding my students to model my political beliefs.

 

I am the man whose sins are mirrored back to him;

haunting in their depth and disturbing color,

within the kaleidoscope of his own mind.

 

I am the man who sees himself in everyone else’s actions;

thereby not really understanding,

others or himself.

 

I am the man whose reflections must be put into words;

then read back to himself to determine

what they really mean.

 

I am the man.

©waldo tomosky

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