The title of this merits a little explanation. This was inspired by, and written as, a complement piece to something written by someone else – by my Muse, in fact – and is written from the perspective of the “other person”.
Mirror
I see you up ahead, too far to hear;
You speak, but nothing that you say is clear.
You think you follow me? This is not true:
I stumble blindly on to get to you;
Your lovely face in anguish wrenched apart;
Its beauty and its pain shoot through my heart.
Torn wisps of truth blow o’er the hissing breeze
A word on birds, on flowers, or on trees;
Then one on loneliness, or fear or loss;
The next on circle, arrow, square or cross;
Another now on sorrow, pain or love;
One on the grass below and stars above.
They make no sense! And yet I hear your voice!
I can’t and won’t ignore your verbal choice
But must try to interpret, if I can
What truth you’ve spoken since first you began
To look at me like this, and wander there.
Your truths catch in my ears, my clothes, my hair;
Each one means something special – if I knew
How I should understand them, I’d know You.
And yet, I get no more from words than smoke.
They’d break my heart, but ’tis already broke.
I cannot know, so cannot ease, your pain
All I can do is turn, and turn again,
In hope a clearer thought from you to catch
And shred of meaning from the sentence snatch.
So, pained and irritated, knowing not
The truths from you I hear, I start to swat
The wordy jumble from my streaming hair.
I watch the words that tumble through the air,
In hope that they might wander back to you
And be revived in clearer words anew.
I turn to you; my eyes are full of tears,
And clouded now your face to me appears
As clouded is my soul, for failure sore.
I yearn to understand you all the more.
But as I gaze across the gulf between
And think of what has passed, or might have been,
My focus ebbs; I now just see your eyes.
You, seeing me, look back in slight surprise
And briefly pause recital of your words
I think again of butterflies and birds
And, with your face before me, I must smile –
But know I cannot heal your pain, the while.
The moment passes. You begin once more
Across the void with gestures to implore –
But what? I still can make no sense of aught
And shreds of truth I see now, that are caught
Upon those rosy lips. I see you choke;
I hear you gasp, with voice of truthy smoke.
The agony too much, I turn away.
But shall I better do, another day?