Hot rivers of anger coursed down my cheeks,
As I climbed from the black pit of despair.
I’d wandered about in the dark for weeks,
Consumed by the hope I’d get lost down there.
The face in my mirrors, everyday,
Grew more indistinct, as though fogged by breath;
Until my reflection just went away,
My echo suffered invisible death!
The man I had faced for all of my days,
Who grinned back from the mirrors on my shelf,
Was lost in a featureless, foggy haze;
And with him, he took my sense of myself.
Panicked, I fled to a place in my mind,
Where the silence reigned and the darkness ruled:
In the darkest hollow hole I could find,
Where panic and fear could be overruled.
I wandered in gloom and despondency,
Too angry to plead for rescue or aid;
Till a voice from shadow whispered at me,
And surprisingly, I was not afraid.
Until then the darkness was absolute.
Then my eyes detected a faint green light,
That limned a figure in a minstrel’s suit;
An emerald sun to my weakened sight,
He sang songs about the absurdity,
Of hiding from life in a deep, dark hole;
Rejecting all those who could have helped me,
And running from life with my heart and soul.
He helped me to stand again on my feet,
Then sang a tune I did not want to hear:
“To self-centered folks, the mirror’s a cheat;
Think only of you and you disappear.”
Angry, I turned and I climbed from the pit,
My face all aglow with chagrin and shame.
For I understood the full truth of it:
My friends were mirrors, my image, acclaim.
I sought my friends, asked for help and advice;
This time I listened, without being rude.
My image was back, though not always nice,
And I only reflected gratitude.
Mick McKellar
September 2014
It seems an easy thing, to find a deep, dark hole, when one wants to hide from one’s reflection in the eyes of the world.
Mick
No comments:
Post a Comment