Reflection’s Armor

Once of water,
Man first eyed himself
perhaps leaning to drink,
club in one hand,
food clenched firmly in the other.

Even today…

How arresting first glance must be,
while a mother hovers,
cooing with pride,
the infant gazing up,
a crib’s mobile of heart-mirrors
reflecting images of personage just beginning.

Sooner than later…

Such mirrored echoes are made persuasive,
revealing deception’s potency,
the Sisyphus philosophy made imminent,
urging actuality into the shadows,
allowing inner truth little chance.

Such becomes deflection’s mirror…

What others see.
What might be.
What is inexorable.

For reflection sees but…

Vague,
invented,
contorted,
mired,
and forged projections
of reflection’s armor.

Such folly this surface identity,
chasing the wrong scent on the wrong trail,
desperation’s ultimate antecedent,
masking the reality beneath,
that needs to live honestly,
to innately be that which is beneath the armor,
if only...