Who is the fairest of them all? The strongest? The smartest? The goodest? I ask again, O’ Mirror, reflection of all, Who is the rarest of them all? A man apart from the rest. A man and not a boy. Can you see the writing on the wall? Read the lines, not between. See the stars in your eyes and tell me what they’re made of.
Man in the Mirror
A pockmarked face
Marred by decision and derision
Marked by contention
I don’t look like such a young man anymore
Staring straight into those eyes
Meet a man who tells no lies
Not to me
Not to you
He wears his wares upon his chin
As tears they wear upon his cheeks
And smile lines race against his pursing lips
A face so seldom understood,
Worn by pages made from wood
In the mirror, seeing leather
What is a man, but a bird without feather?
I want to fly
So high in the sky
And with my little eye
A thousand things I’d spy
Not the least of which is you, me
The one I cannot help but be
That one inside the mirror I see
Why ya calling us all out? Lol. Great poem!
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Getting old is weird.
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