This withering reflection is a cushion to my
soul and this impulsive flow of pain I feel
I won't rely on sight again.
I'm hiding the pain behind a pretty face;
Behind this mirror image
The broken pieces thrown away won't erase the weary gaze,
but linger on your sleeve of tales,
to rot away the gloss of truths.
You're picking up the shards I'm setting down
to this broken mirror image.
Covering the scars the best that I can,
the claws of fault reaching out,
tainted glass with silver borders,
with crimson tones parading shame on this mirror image.
I won't give into it again.
I'll just throw it all away,
I'm hiding the pain behind a pretty face.
This is the only way, this mirror image.
but linger on your sleeve of tales, to rot away the gloss of truths. wonderful imagery of love as when latches on to the claws of grief, haitus grows by gaunlet, soul when swathed by the pain, love seems to be hurtful by the reeks, great write,10+, thanks for sharing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I really like your poetic style...very unique...I can see the pain-the tears-the lonliness-this poem took me to a place-a familiar place. Excellent piece! ! ! ! !