The Man in His Mirror

 

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The Man in his Mirror

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walking by his wall of art he chanced to

glance into his gilded framed mirror

what he saw was foreboding a man

with furrowed brow and distant stare

with wild hair like Trojan Achilles

bending over his wounded heel.

 

Each line etched on his tired face

earned from all the years of abuse

reminding him that a farewell of

note would be kind for a

cold corpse.

 

The years had come and gone

leaving him depleted as a reminder

of the work he had left uncompleted.

 

Nothing written of any acclaim yet

amused he did so many of the sketchy

letters he left to pour over and

nothing more.

 

The mirror misted over and beheld

a little boy who wanted to please

nothing more, a tear fell from this

old man’s one good eye and even

twinkled in surprise.

 

No protest did he utter for his

vision was clear this much he

knew that little boy was real

and written in small words

were, I love you father dear.

 

© Copyright Vincent Moore 2012. All Rights Reserved.

 


Comments

The Man in His Mirror — 17 Comments

    • My dear McHamlet so very nice to see you here. Your words ring of truth, I know my mirror can be flattering or destructive, I hate them, rarely look into them. I fear the pain I see looking back at me. Instructive? I suppose, destructive a certainty for many of us. Peace and blessings I send to you and yours this day, keep writing. I would love to see more of your excellent work, I miss it. However I don’t write at the Hubs any longer, I’ve left that place for my own site as you know, I look forward to seeing you here more often my poet.

  1. Vincent..your poetry is always tremendously moving and intriguing! This soooo pulled at my heartstrings and i was surprised by the ending!
    Beautifully done as always, my friend!

  2. Sometimes one good eye is all that is necessary, especially if it is “one’s mind’s eye, Ken”. After surviving a stormy and troubled existence, the times we stumble are those times, which have taught us the most. While these molded our characters, they are hardly the experiences we would want for our offspring to likewise endure. Life Lessons are just that “life learned by experiencing them, first hand!”

    How they are remembered still remains as uniquely personal as they are defining. Yet once completed they can neither be erased, dismissed nor replayed again with a do over to have a different result. There are no second chances! Do or no do, there is no try again, no restart. In this life what you see is what you get!

    The legacy we wish to bequeath to our children isn’t always ours to control, my friend. Getting older isn’t for the weak.Our Memories remain constant and are as we remember them. What each of us carries inside remains as deep and real, as those memories, we know all too well.You have expressed yourself eloquently as always, “Vincent Moore!”

    Perhaps that which we want for our sons is a life like in the piece by Rudyard Kipling, “If” which for me states it best.
    Thanks my dear friend, regards Aka Professor M! (Mike)

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