Ask the Mirror
a poem
The storm within and the storm without.
Clouds move past - chunky and grey among the open sky.
I feel storms pass within - mental states, dreams.
I’m happy I’m not a robot. But who am I to put down the robots?
Maybe their within mirrors their without just like mine.
Maybe we are all fresh canvases - a mirror in the mind, reflecting all it sees, hears, tastes, and touches.
It can be a prison.
But has anyone ever asked the mirror what it sees, what it feels?
To reflect all and be wiped clean at the end of every passing image.
How do we feel?
It’s not even a question - there is no such thing.
Yet we play as if there is.
We play and play and play until the game lives and we forget our own mirror in our minds.
Still there, it reflects with more haste. It’s in a hurry, for we are constantly waving ourselves before it.
Can it keep up or will it shatter?
