The Mirror

Who is that ancient being returning my stare?
Every painful motion matched in perfect symmetry
Wrinkled and gray, the stranger, a mimic
What happened? How did he get there? Who is he?

I remember the boy who used to look back at me
Long gone, vanished in time
Smooth complexion and hair of brown
Dressed as from a different era

Over the years, so many faces have returned my glance
Most unstudied, taken for granted
But for some new defect or flaw
No direct attention was paid.

Until now
The old fossil looks back with bloodshot eyes
Leathery skin from years of pain
His name is Agony. His occupation: Suffering

What will become of him?

--

In the background of the Mirror
The world has changed
Through time, homes moved
Relocated, refurnished
But always the man in the foreground
Every time I look
I can’t escape from him
Unless I stare from a distance at off-angle

--

In the past, Humanity had mirrors
The smooth surface of a pond
Clear sheets of ice
Crafted shiny metal
But none of these could rival
The perfect mirrors of today
What did they see then?
A caricature of the observer
At best, a distorted image
Not quite telling the truth

Did those people carry the pain
Of seeing themselves decay
Watching the rotting flesh
As it tried to fall away
Or was Youth their one salvation
As life ended before the wasting?
No need to look
At faces unchanged

--

Trapped in our time
Unless the mirror breaks,
I’m condemned to seeing that dying man
As he withers into eternity
Every single day
One wrinkle at a time

Unless I refuse to look.