My mirror talks
In silver sparks
And shadow marks
At dawn
It hums my name
A soft strange flame
I lean upon
It shows my past
A ghost held fast
A fading cast
Of me
It sings my fears
My cracked veneers
My quiet gears
Set free
It bends my light
My half made fight
My almost bright
New skin
It keeps my truth
My feral youth
My broken proof
Within
And when I breathe
The glass believes
My shape retrieves
Its core
My mirror talks
And in those shocks
My shifting locks
Restore
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Author:
Anthony Hanible (
Offline) - Published: July 2nd, 2026 00:59
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: Anthony Hanible, sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
I am not quite sure if it is the cadence, the rhyme and near rhyme, the substance of the content or possibly a combination of all three that make this a fave.
😁 thanks
You are most welcome Anthony
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