The Mirror

Mirrors are always noisy, taking you in confidence...to say, 'you're not a spring chick anymore', and it hurts...I'll comb my hair the other way...oh, that's no good, and you go away with a little less confidence, a little less certainty.Mirrors are not our friends...unless, of course, you wish the pain of honesty...for mirrors seldom lie. If you value wisdom over vanity...what you will see, of your reflection, is the changing of a year...from green to grey, to barren..waiting waiting waiting, for that new you, and you lay there...moldering of lovers...sleeping in the box with you, dreaming...dreaming and forgetting. The box anew...bowed, bright, child of the morning...returning from somewhere, a happy loving parent...greeting you...needing you. Green of spring...hope everywhere, a child crawls across the floor, to touch that shiny thing...'there's someone funny, in the mirror, mommy'. 'That's you, honey'. Life giggles, and goes on...


Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico

Photo Credit: richardwiseman.wordpress.com