The mirror shifts, my face split,
left and right, one true, one gray.
I hear whispers in still rooms,
a second voice undoing my first.
Down hallways of doubt, I shuffle,
one step forward, two in reverse.
To live twice is to live half,
to dissect the soul, its wail muted.
I shadowbox with reflections, sly,
counterfeit smiles crack like glass.
The worst is the cold of dual air,
both sides of the breath too thin.
If I tear myself, will I find bone,
or just a hollow of my choosing?
Darkened corners guard the echoes,
of all the yeses turned into nos.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: May 4th, 2025 03:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments2
great read, thanks for sharing
A most interesting poem Gray with great metaphor of the mirror and splitting. Since the face is not symmetrical I wonder how this affects things in the split. Loved the read
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