Mirrors - Poem by Morgan Phillips
When I pass by a reflective glass,
I turn my gaze to the floor.
When I walk past a fateful mirror, I ask,
“Good God, please Lord, show me no more.”
But this day, I met a man,
Handling the thing I hate the most,
With kind young eyes, scarred over hands,
And a smile and a frown playing on his lips.
I think he noticed my downcast glare,
He lifted my chin,
And took mine in his own two pair.
He turned me ‘round to face my sin.
My gaze burned back,
Deep down inside my head.
My mental train losing its track.
This comely, well meaning man, to me he said,
“Sweet woman, why do you cry?
At an image so inspiring, illuminating.
You must tell me why,
When you should be smiling, yet you are weeping.
You might have tears in your eyes
And the heaviest lead in your heart,
But you have the beauty woman despise,
Ill show you what I’m talking about, just to start.
With eyes of ice blue, and sometimes emerald,
And soft full moon lips,
The hair of the angel’s herald,
Perfection in your curves, the contour of your hips.
Don’t let anyone tell you different,
For snide remarks will be plentiful,
Something as good as you can only be heaven sent,
‘Cause Lordy, good God, woman. You are BEAUTIFUL.”
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