Broken Reflections

The mirror recited itself in mute stillness.

I saw a reflection of me whom some even claimed dead.

I touched my lined face, but its likeness did not rejoin.

A smooth coldness as unto ice greeted my hand.

I challenged the muted likeness.

Yet un-stirringly it did not blink.

With my hand I touched the surface of the glass.

It Shattered…

Now the leaden shards fell like silver rain through space.

Gaunt and reaching fingers now pull back bleeding.

Cut into pieces by the sharpness of a forgotten past.

A haunting blackness now filled the void within the mirrors frame.

I looked down dejected at the tiny pieces that lay by my feet.

And…and… I couldn’t even remember my name.

Broken now is my reflection, broken is the likeness of me.

J. Allen Wilson © 5/2008