Looking through the windowpane with bitterness,

I see myself staring back at me.

Daring me to rise from this feeling of worthlessness;

Wrecked, are my thoughts, run over by the system,


Ashes of hope float in my head;

My mind is a bloodied ocean of dying spirits,

Put out the cigarette, the smoke feels good,

Beat me to death, I am immortal,

Look at me, don’t turn away,

Bind me in your wings of pride.


Let my spirits trek this Everest of fear,

Let it wander on the moors,

Let it breathe the dirt and the wine,

Go on, pamper me and I’ll rise.

Yes I will.


You’ve made my day, I’m good

Are you? of course you are…

But if I am you and you are me,

Then WHO AM I ???


  • Cheeky Missy

    Very interesting "reflection." The picture is excellently fitting. The contemplation is a fascinatingly sorrowful poetic meditation and assessment. And the question is echoed by so very many people.

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.