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jasmine-1Poems
The foggy mirror Displaces your image Back to you Distorted and the right on the left Left on the right You rub your hand against the glass Use the sleeve of your shirt to pierce the fog Though it does not disappear It’s permanently there, you decide Along with the black mold that lingers at the corners And at the sides You look further into it Just a piece of reflecting glass Or that’s what it seems to be You look directly into the middle Not at your eyes but at the material of the glass There is a small speck with no fog. You start again to run you sleeve across But starting at the speck, The fog slowly circulates around the mirror Like it is holding a pool of fog You push the fog so it overlaps And the edges are a deeper gray A clear spot emerges in the center You put your finger right in the middle of the spot It’s not painful But it’s not comfortable There is pressure on your finger A vibrating sensation An other worldly pull You are completely mystified By the images that swirl through the fog Though not of another world, They are of yours, They are what you may be able to hold in your hands one day The others what happens with nothing in your hands.
0
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 3:57 PM UTC
distorted view
The foggy mirror Displaces your image Back to you Distorted and the right on the left Left on the right You rub your hand against the glass Use the sleeve of your shirt to pierce the fog Though it does not disappear It’s permanently there, you decide Along with the black mold that lingers at the corners And at the sides You look further into it Just a piece of reflecting glass Or that’s what it seems to be You look directly into the middle Not at your eyes but at the material of the glass There is a small speck with no fog. You start again to run you sleeve across But starting at the speck, The fog slowly circulates around the mirror Like it is holding a pool of fog You push the fog so it overlaps And the edges are a deeper gray A clear spot emerges in the center You put your finger right in the middle of the spot It’s not painful But it’s not comfortable There is pressure on your finger A vibrating sensation An other worldly pull You are completely mystified By the images that swirl through the fog Though not of another world, They are of yours, They are what you may be able to hold in your hands one day The others what happens with nothing in your hands.
Written by
jasmine-1
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 3:57 PM UTC
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