When will I look in the mirror?
Driving home, staring out of a rain soaked
window, my reflection flashes back at me
from my fellow travelers lights.
Thirty miles to my bathroom mirror
and all that remains are those flashes.
Quick, fleeting glimpses of regret and denial
that become whole in the glare of florescent lights.
I see the past. I see the future.
I see myself with ageless eyes staring
ahead at me all at the same time.
Thirty years back to this bathroom mirror;
a long hard line that is the window to my past.
This mans face will be old from time
but his eyes are as perpetual as his soul.
The eyes are not windows where the world
can look with happenstance… they are a door.
One that we can open and close at a whim.
Where we choose who and what we let in,
to the glory or detriment of our souls.
I feel mine well up some days and push against
my hinges. Then I look into the mirror and push back.
There is no salvation yet in that reflection.