Here of late, I sit and wait.
I anticipate the awakening, of myself.
I dread a stroll by a mirror, almost hate.
Still, I gaze into it, I see my souls wealth.
I can see through the pupils of my eyes.
The lines, the worry on my face.
Aging with time, my plans, I must devise.
Merely standing there, denies me my purpose, my place.
With my reflections and the ticking of life's clock, I look.
Being human we too are like reflecting glass.
Standing before me, is a man that is not an open book.
In an instant we too can break by sharp force, but it will pass.
I wake up each day with hope and worry.
Walking passed the shadows of my youth, with my present reflection.
My wish is that time will not hurry.
I share my love with others, with the knowledge of our souls perfection.
"Being human we too are like reflecting glass."
ReplyDeleteThis image re-evokes a shape of my own about being a responder to a true but invisible thing near me or far from me, but part of my need to live. Perhaps I hear a conversation with a part of myself I haven't met yet.
DB
Yes as we grow old, reflection does change along with lines of worries as signs of maturity concomittant to our responsibilities. I devised an outlook that I won't see me as a reflecting glass...but as a glass that gets stronger as it endures the time of trials. I like your reflection about your life.
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