Authentic Blanks

Reflections come in all sizes,
shapes,
tenuous,
delicate,
defying nature,
arisen unknowingly
below skirts of praise,
belts of scorn,
some awakening dervish tears
hidden beneath welts of honor.

Looking-glass-smiles lure.
Mirrored penance suffers.

Forever the mystery unsolved,
passions unbridled,
memories often living but for
tomorrow's ambush.

All the while…

Right is wrong.
Wrong is right.

Judgment ponders its banks
awash with confusion,
awaiting tomorrow’s tide.

Voices sing lonely effigies
arisen from stitches once closed,
but never healed.

Innocent whispers,
now genuine,
reach from the pods of the genetic past,
the larval ingestion for tomorrow's incarnate.

Finally…

Yesterday makes its way back.
Its consciousness of once-inert clay,
bone,
flint,
steel,
now clanging the bars where spears,
knives,
guns,
and nuclear rods
stand vigil awaiting
another tomorrow of self-destruction.

All the while…

Many reflections remain steadfast in the fog,

as they expel their final breath.

Fraudulent others continue to bide their time

as Life’s mail of unanswered questions awaits the ink.

Not knowing a return address is but hubris

clinging to some fraudulent identity,

their images mirroring truthful

authentic blanks.