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,
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,
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.