The Mirror

I see a past of shattered glass, when I can see it at all.

Defiant fist propelled by rage, as if I have hit the wall.

The chards have sliced and gouged my tender flesh.

The stinging, burning pain replaces everything else.

Standing in the pile of rubble that reflects back at me,

I know the force of nature that created the havoc I see.

The past is buried in my mind, the ghosts haunt me still,

Nagging and nagging like some long overdue bill.

I cry!

I scream!

I rage!

I take a deep breath; declare that I have had my fill.

I open my eyes to allow myself to merge with the mist,

Gently wipe the mirror, the lost child no longer exists.

I’m bigger!

I’m braver!

I’m safer!

I’ve stopped greeting the world with my fists!

 

Reviews

[shadadakiya]

very great write thank you for shareing good craft

[frogbean]

i concure with kuro kaji.

[Katrinka Johnson]

This poem started out so sad but in the end it brought hope