Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Polishing the Mirror

In time 
    we are no longer
testing the arguments
that our experience
will somehow 
    make us stronger
as if each pang of hunger
itself were sustenance,
as if the circumstance
of age could 
    make us younger.
No more this 
    vain pretending
our skin gets tougher when
we feel reality
    burn like the sun.
We are born to suffer and
bear our mortality;
there will be 
    no happy ending
before this 
    day is done.

But this too 
    is from the sun:
a secondary fire cast
from rippling waters,
a flashing picture
of the waters’ movement
    brushed upon the wall,
and you start to see that 
everything is a mirror 
of a higher power
    of aboriginal light;

But this too 
    is from the sun:
the bent reflection 
of passing souls
on a dagger’s face
whose verging angle
and sharpened edge
    turn angels into devils,
and you let your dagger 
talk to you, but it 
never tells you 
what is true
    or what is false.

In time 
    all secondary
images turn to gray,
stealing the light of day
and leaving 
    ordinary
impressions on the mirror
of our mortality,
yet we may never see
a time when 
    truth shines clearer.
No more this 
    disregarding
what keeps our darkened hearts
strong: each determined beat
    comes from the sun,
and every spark imparts
the sun’s eternity
of truth that 
    keeps on burning
after the 
    day is done.

And this too 
    is from the sun.


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