The Mirror Shows

 This poem is a mirror,

a true portrait of you.

Perhaps you don’t believe that?

I assure you that it’s true.

So read on and you’ll notice

with a look of sweet surprise

your reflection on its surface.

Your mouth, your nose. Your eyes.

Look deeper though and down there

you’ll see what’s underneath

the mask that you are wearing.

You’ll gasp in disbelief

to see the inner workings,

the things that make you tick.

It’ll make you gaze in wonder

if it doesn't make you sick.

Your pain, your guilt, your anger

and all of your despair,

the time you cheated on your wife

then asked her not to care.

The fear you have inside you

that you haven’t done enough.

The fifty years you’ve wasted

on doing selfish stuff.

The places you will never go,

the things that you won’t see.

The options that you never took.

The things you’ll never be.

The fear that God will judge you

for fearing He’s not there.

The fear your Daddy hates you

and Mummy doesn’t care.

The fear that life is pointless,

a meaningless crusade

to eat and reproduce

that leads but to the grave.

At the bottom of the mirror

you’ll see your future too.

A broken world in chaos

where there’s nothing you can do

but accept the mirror’s judgement

on decisions you have made,

on the people that you’ve hurt

and the weakness you’ve displayed.

Oh God, this is a nightmare

for I’m starting to see

that this poem is a mirror

so this portrait is of me.