Broken mirror, why do you stare at me?
Why do you ask the question that I cannot
Is there a hidden meaning to your fleeting
Are you mocking me?
Can you see the wispy clouds blowing through my
Embracing my inner self with warmth, hope and affection;
Infusing my spirit with tranquil energy.
These clouds are not fluffy, white and friendly;
Like those on a seaside picture postcard.
These clouds are gloomy, cold and hostile.
They patrol the perimeters of my soul like
Subjugating my every thought and desire to
Their own selfish whims and evil intents.
They bar every shaft of welcome golden sunlight;
Stunting the growth of all joyous feelings and
Imperilling my very being.
So, once again my friend, as I gaze at my
Bloodied, clenched fist.
Why do you stare at me?