Thoughts of a Single Man Poems

The mirror has two faces. The one that can bee seen by any peering eye and the one that cane be viewed only from within. The mirror has two faces. The image that reveals the shadows of the soul repressed. The face found deeper that the simple skin of a grin.


She sees so many images layered upon one another as she looks longingly in to the unforgiving glass. Faces found in the torn reflections of a tortured past. Beyond the pretty smile, she can still see the sad eyes of a lost child, all the while pretending that her forced grin will save her. Asking the mirror for one last favor. To show her the future and all that she dreams it will hold yet there is no response from the cold pane, no image of a birthing flame, for the longer she looks the stronger becomes the forgotten stain. The remnants of her unseen pain. The abuse of the hands that hurt her and the words that we cast upon her and those who chose to dessert her. And the image begins to crack as pieces of a dream once known, the one she used to own, crumble like pebbles of the hammered stone. And in that moment she feels so alone wishing there were no more mirrors in her home. Mirror mirror on the wall who holds the lesson of them of all? For one can never hide from the truth found in their own eyes and in the still of a silent night she is frozen in a moment of time as she cries. The tears wept by those who still have scars left to heal, seen on a screen all to real, for there is always the view of what is there before them and what is inevitably truly buried in the soil of the soul where she stands beneath the silken strands of the warmth of the rising sun yet still shivers from the cold. The biting sting that riddled them in the frigid winds that assault their core and so she prays that she can forget what she saw as turns from the mirror watching the foggy print left by her broken heart slowly fade away like the warm breath of a heaving sigh.
...

Destiny is not captured like the fluttering butterfly
it is made
it is crafted
it is determined like the final notes
...

The desert stretches before me

like a blanket of burning sand
...

I thought I was born with the blood of the Spartan
that I was to wage war for the destiny of my lineage
that I had strength enough to battle proud
for my selected sliver of eternity's configured morals
...

Gingerly she walks
along the wall of our own recognition
carefully sitting on it's edge
cringing under the weight
...

Within the mind of the poet
there is cobra waiting to strike the page
his teeth spewing poisoners black venom
and his spirit is reamed thoroughly by his pen
...

Some say a love is a path that only the chosen few can walk

Some say a love its is an outline that fades away like chalk
...

I imagine that she was waiting for me
sitting on that glossy stone
watching waiting for my arrival like the coming dawn
on the endless waves of the ocean I sat
...

The diagram left in our words

expands like the map to our hearts
...

Lay your head down and close those lovely eyes. Let your mind wander, as it did last night, as we dance once again of the stage of the loving mind. Gentle like the flicker in the glimmer of the candle's light. Find me once again my love and become the infinite display of what the poet forever writes.

In a dream we finally found each other
...