NOTE: I did not write the following, it is from a book entitled "Parts of Me" by Kimberley Z. Tent. However, I feel very connected to this Kimberley was a Canadian Royal Mountie and our careers seem to have been very similar. Her poetry spoke to me, however this one is pretty deep.
Mirror, Mirror
Is this really born flesh staring back at me?
With darkened eyes and once glowing cheeks, mocking me in a paltry shade of goodbye?
Why does it cover aged, trembling palms, forcing me to remember a grim script of tightened wire, darkness and shame?
I've lost precious pieces of moments passed on, a beautiful canvas gone black over time, with covered limbs and memory fogged.
What does life mean, if it's partially gone, when jagged scraps are hidden under clay, of dragons, turmoil and childish desire.
Beware the sting of promises not kept, of scarlet tunic treachery and secrets held above steep ladders of false face, shadows of timeless abandonment, chained to the gut of a charcoal box, now rusted and floating south on a nameless river.
Will I ever recognize the image staring back at me? The one dreaming of a better place 'round the bend, and searching for truth in one single day?
Can unconditional love of self truly survive shared air within a society unjust, or do we surrender ourselves to daily checks - In bloodstained mirrors?
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