Don't go by the cover, go by the badges of victory!
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A book of poetry for all of your moods and genres, just look in brackets and choose the one that fits your mood. Be it mini poems or reverse - haiku, sonnet or acrostic. Be it...
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I see myself on the mirror. The glass is cracked, A thin silver line runs Through my reflection. Very thin, just like a whisper. But the image in front. Is unnerving, unsettling. It's as if I've been cleaved apart. I see myself as two halves. Two halves not fitting, Two mismatched pieces, Trying to make one whole. Ending up in a defective whole. It's a confusion of wants, A choice of personality, And the dilemma of desires. The image of me smiles, Just as I do, It shifts, cries, just as I do. But still the images move apart. When glass breaks, No glue can set it right. A mirror can be replaced. But what about an individual? When a person breaks in two? How do we fit the pieces? How do we make them stay? It's difficult to rejoin parts, Broken apart by neglect. And when it's a human, It's not only the reflection, But the soul that's warring. Battling within oneself, For their place. The personalities, emotions, Feelings that make us a whole. How do you bind them? Will we just grind the soul, And remould it, perhaps? Just like we recycle, That broken mirror. The new mirror will give, A new reflection, A new, unbiased story. A new black canvas for emotions. But that's outward. Can the soul actually be purged? We talk of forgiveness. Is it easy? Doesn't the mind ever stray, Back to that event? It does, but the way. You move forward Shows how much effort you put, In cleansing your soul, mind. And then someone comes, Points a gun at the mirror! And bam, it's shattered again. Beyond repair. And thus a human is broken. The broken reflection, Of a broken, hollow soul, Remains behind, Singing the story of humanity. Or assertiveness and boldness. Teaching us, guiding us. One day there'll be no remains. And that's the great end, The perfect punctuation.
