literature

Reflections

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Literature Text

"Life is a mirror and will reflect back to the thinker what he thinks into it."
-Ernest Holmes

"Reflections"
by Alex Sorrow

I sit and gaze beyond the flawless glass

Until I realize that I do not see

What lies behind this window nevermore

Only into the reflection of me.

 

My ghost stares back with eyes devoid of life

Or perhaps that’s what my eyes really are

Were I to look away, the ghost would leave

From there, he would travel to places far.

 

He’d soar through shining waters of moonlight

Or creep along a wall of polished stone

My ghost would walk through so many windows

Travelling so far, but never alone

(for reflections never are).

 

I wonder, if when you looked to his eyes

If they would be as lifeless as are mine

Would my ghost still look at me with sadness

Or would his eyes have rekindled their shine?

 

But no matter how far my ghost had flew

How long it had been since we shared a glance

I would drag him back to this same window

When I would look beyond it in a trance.

 

Staring so deeply into the window

That I am looking at my reflection

All else falls away into nothingness

As I hold him and beg for protection.

 

But his eyes seem to beg me for freedom

To look away from him so he can live

I see the coldness in his eyes and know

I cannot free him and he won’t forgive.

 

My ghost, filled with hatred, haunts and stalks me

Watching me from every mirror each day

Taunting me with those unlovable eyes

Until the day my sorrow goes away.

It's quite astonishing how something so simple can burn itself into our minds. The simple act of gazing out a window, for example, and looking so intently at the moon, hovering high above and just barely breaking through the dark clouds, at the stoplight flickering red, at the lone boy sitting on the curb, at all of these sights and realizing that you've looked so deeply into them that you're only staring into your own eyes, reflected to you, and wondering why things couldn't be different.

I wanted to write something. I put aside an hour to do so. Nearly half an hour passed before I finally began typing this, because I didn't know what to write. I haven't touched my novel in weeks. I wanted to write a poem from the perspective of the Grim Reaper at first, but then the concept turned to silence when my muse refused to sing, and then the concept to writer's block because I could not write anything beyond a simple sentence.

Finally, I remembered this experience. I began typing, letting the words flow. Everything began to feel natural, even following my usual poetic structure. My muse quietly began to sing, and I felt that familiar passion fill me with emotions beyond what words can convey, and for a moment... I was happy.

Hopefully this poem can make you happy to, if only for a moment. :)
© 2017 - 2024 Soulful-Sorrow
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Queen-of-Ice101's avatar
This is a wonderful piece!! I really love the imagery.