A broken mirror.
I came to you to find the glass,
To hold the pieces of the shards,
To see the truth of what had passed,
Stripped of the weight of playing cards.
You were the mirror, polished, clear,
So I could face the ghost I kept,
To map the geography of my fear,
And name the shadows while I wept.
But you were cracked or set askew,
A surface bent to warp the light.
I looked for me, but found, in you,
The echo of a gaslit night.
The years of ruin, the weight of hands
That left their bruising, jagged toll—
You held the map of broken lands,
Then burned the parchment for my soul.
"It was your choice," the verdict fell,
A surgical, cold-blooded sting.
You took the stories I would tell
And clipped the feathers from the wing.
You mirrored back the very blame
That draped me in a shroud of shame,
Turning the victim to the source—
A cruelty, practiced, as a course.
So why the horror in the chest?
Why does the air grow thin and strange?
When those who claim to heal the rest
Are masters of the cold exchange.
They promise sight, they offer grace,
But keep the blame within their sleeves;
They hold a mirror to my face
And paint it with the blood of thieves.
I came to heal; I came to mend,
To parse the logic of the lie,
But found that even there, the trend
Was watching my own spirit die.
You were the glass I trusted most—
To clear the fog, to ease the pain—
But all you did was feed the ghost,
And wash me in the blame again.
-
Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: July 2nd, 2026 07:28
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
- Users favorite of this poem: Salvia.S, Paul Bell, Syd, Tristan Robert Lange, RSM0812
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Comments11
Well written in poetic verse it contains good rhyme and flow. Its content contains a great deal of expressed pain and feelings of deception. Well done.
This wrecked me. “You were the glass I trusted most— To clear the fog, to ease the pain— But all you did was feed the ghost.” That’s the most honest thing I’ve read about betrayal in a healing space. “Masters of the cold exchange” and “surgical, cold-blooded sting” you named it exactly. Thank you for writing this.
Even in death he gets to you it seems.
Always hard to come back from betrayal, but even leaving it seems sends boulders rolling down the hill.
Brilliantly written 👏 I can feel the emotion in the piece.
- Syd 🍄
Powerful and deeply felt.
Friendship, what a powerful poem. The broken mirror becomes such a compelling thread from beginning to end, carrying the themes of trust, distortion, and misplaced blame with tremendous emotional force. By the final stanza, the heartbreak feels complete without ever becoming melodramatic. Outstanding write, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
This is the shit why your pen writes itself or something. It is everything perfect, perfect verse has to offer. The way you twisted the last line is remarkable and is one of the best poems on the sight.
An angel crying is a great pic to represent this write as well.
Her long straight dark hair, at her shoulder it hung,
Like strings of an angel, quiet in song.
Her eyes were transfixed on the quiet still dark. She peered at the pain of my breaking cold heart.
He beauty was fixed, like dust to a star.
The shade of the night, her shadow bide far.
A stranger she was, a stranger she is, a rose lost in stone, her grace all alone.
I dare not to look, our eyes can not meet, for mine would fall hard, and hers would just leap.
Her hand i would take, and walk to a door,
Neither of us have either entered before.
Both of us enter, eyes wide to see.
The wonder inside, the brilliance to be.
This is where God goes when he idles and dies.
Angels come here to weep and to cry.
Me and my dame, were sent here to find.
Each other in temperment, a lost loves abide.
For now i know why this child i met.
And walked in the night, our hearts barley kept.
To show each other us, as us to ourselves. And stay in this place where pain does not dwell.. At long last my quelled heart, it beats for her breast. And her want is my want together we rest. Her beauty is pure, like embers of stars. And my need is as dire as the miles they are far. Unfortunate be to me is the truth yet untold. The beauty she is my life it but soothed. My heart yet still empty as a bottemless pit. I hope that my angel finds peace wherever she is. For when im with her, peace in my soul, my temperment quelled, my mind is but full. She holds both my hands, she cradles my heart, her touch is softer then feathers in the flight of her art. Her voice is so soothing it turns darkness to light. The day still but day, the night dark its flight. If i was the man she deserves to call hers. My pride and humility will vex all my tears. This is the creasture men simply to die. For her touch, for her love, i nought make her cry. Although we wont meet and make life our own. I hope she finds heaven right here at her home. I still have her image, beauty and true. I still have her silhouette dark and anew. Her soul like a poem, written with ink. By poets of love, or so they bethink.
This is one of my best and yours is still way better.
Heartbreaking and heart rending😔sometimes the very people one trusts implicitly are the ones who betray and hurt us.
Powerful and gritty.
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