The Mirror

The Mirror

I look in distorted mirrors and find no reflection
My eyes are blind to the person staring back.
Who is he?
Should I know him?

The wind blows nothing across my eyes.
Its dust doesn’t seep into my pores,
It just rests against the dryness,
And fills the cracks and creases of my map.

I don’t realize that silence has a message,
It fails to speak to me,
And I callously shut my ears
From the noise and the dissonance.

Lie to me if you must!
My honesty is chaliced and poured out
Like the grail. Tossed on the heap,
Of humanity’s transgressions
And disregarded by the crusade.

Can you imagine what the painter sees?
Nakedness and frailty,
Wrapping the muscles and sinew
In soiled paper and rough burlap.

Fuck You the world screams!
At no one; at everyone.
Those who hear are the lost ones;
Those who listen are the chosen ones.

I hold my hands up reaching, tugging, grabbing
At the words that fall around me.

Does my distortion frighten you?
Does it challenge you to accept my renderings
In word,
In deed,
In the butcher’s knife?

I look in the mirror and see nothing.
My eyes are blinded by the site of HIM.
Who is he?
I should know him.