How long shall I deny this frailty?
A vice it has become.
Logic assessing your value,
And pride shutting my eye.
The mirror tells me I am right,
While bluntly attesting its cold.
The warmth I eternally seek is not
Beneath its mocking polished mold.
Time has passed but I, my love,
Still holds back my step.
And time stops not and lurks around
It feeds me more regrets.
But the picture captures not just the scene,
And links my unceasing stream of chain
Stretches not from fading horizon,
It hangs me lovingly on its trail.
This is an old poem I wrote and recently edited. I think it flows a bit better now and is less wordy. Although it is in "public" view, I would still love to hear critiques and improve not just this poem, but everything else I am to write and edit in the future as well.