|self-portrait, Francis Bacon|
The search will never wind up,
My existence is lost behind the closed doors,
The hunt for my outer shell and my inner soul,
Always ceases ahead of the mirror on the wall.
I scream like a lunatic, weep like a child,
I can’t see my real self in the mirror,
Only my distorted, inverted reflection.
When I cry, it grins blatantly.
When I move on, it stays there looking at me.
I need to peek at my spirit,
I need a glance of myself, my actual self.
I need an answer from the delusive, disguised mirror,
If I exist or exist not, if I’m alive or deceased,
But it fails to answer, whenever I ask it one.
But seems to deflect me, from the truth.
Just one thing that I can try,
To explore my reality, veracity, actuality,
Is to take a picture of me, from thy eyes,
Since I exist only in thy soul, thy mind.
My existence shall be eternal,
If you close your eyes with me.
This is my last post for this year. Wish all of you a happy new year. Be blessed.
I hope you guys liked my poem. Thanks for reading :)
This post is linked to The Mag. The picture on the top was a prompt for this week.