I was taught to polish mirrors
that never showed me back—
a child bent into reflection,
a servant of glass.
Their voices were lanterns
turned inward, hoarding flame.
I learned to speak in refraction,
to wear masks that smiled
without teeth.
But silence, too, is a teacher.
From the hollow rooms I carried
a stubborn ember—
not theirs, not borrowed—
a light that refuses
to bow to glass.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 4th, 2025 04:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments3
Reflections that show no image are as useless as tits on a bore hog. To spend time polishing them another waste of time. This entire poem seems to speak of useless effort exacted where the light of knowledge is greedily kept from the servant. Masks that superficially smile but with no teeth to chew, no wonder words must be bent. Out of silent meditation some truth to light future fires. The fragility of glass comes to mind as well in this as well as its rigidity. Bowing to glass that does reflect is making oneself a god and to glass that does not reflect is bowing to a god that is not there. Nicely done Cryptic
Thank you dear Soren, that is spot on! 🙏🏻🕊️
Always my pleasure to read your poetry
Arqios, this is beautifully wrought. From polishing empty mirrors to carrying your own ember, you’ve turned silence into strength. Haunting and powerful, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
That light will always be there in you life Rik.
Andy
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