Every so often,
When I find myself in peaceful solitude,
I face my looking glass in reverie,
Reflecting on my past,
Contemplating my future.
All is tranquil.
Then the clock strikes midnight,
Rendering apparitions from their slumber.
They effuse benignly from the darkness,
Only to pounce on my limpid mind,
Stupefying me with shadows of yesterday.
They transport me back into lonely squalor,
Encapsulating me in an arid existence.
Here I battle neglect,
From both myself and others.
Torment bubbles within me,
And like Hamlet,
I cry for the agony to melt me,
Eradicate my soul,
And reduce me to air.
But before I slide to the point of no return,
Hope pries its way within despair’s rigid gasp,
Releasing me from my trance.
The clock strikes again,
And I’m relieved to find morning
Peeking through my window.
The shadows recoil in sight of the light,
And all is calm once again.
I forget where I’ve been,
And remember where I’m going.
The sheen of tomorrow beckons me onward.
And all the while,
I hold my looking glass close to me;
A constant reminder that I’m a survivor.