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I am exact; precise.
Faithful-and proud.
I bare you,
just as you are.
My judgement-cold,
too true;
unaffected-
by my love,
Or your fear.
I sit back
staring at you.
Your features,
in the dim light
enhanced.
I sit back
and stare.
I show you
what I see.
with all the love
my faith holds.
You cry.
Has my love,
clear as me,
failed?
I love you.
selfishly, so.
I love you.
and I show it.
The only way I know.
But a mirror cannot love,
or so you say.
I can’t.
For you don’t.
No-you don’t.
You don’t love yourself.
Your eyes,
most beautiful,
you fail to see.
They tell me-
oh they do;
shouting silently
A prayer,
and a curse.
A mirror cannot love
For each day,
each moment,
as the clock ticks life away
and the sun goes down;
A monster awakens
deep inside him.
From the depths of hell,
crawling steadily
towards his love.
Towards you.
A monster of wrinkles,
of old age
of tears and curses.
Of death.
A mirror cannot love.
For he’s truthful.
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