The mirror speaks,
"C'est moi"
"Ich bin das"
"It is me."
/*/
These words of many tongues
All speak of me,
Of what I see.
/*/
And take these words,
And break them down.
And grind them into dust
To sprinkle on my body.
/*/
In the world of speakers
No one listens.
/*/
Create and create,
And make yourself,
But watch as no one listens.
/*/
We break ourselves.
Grind ourselves to dust.
Then sprinkle us into the world.
/*/
A dash here,
One there.
Wherever it's demanded
We give of our supply.
/*/
But what is left,
When we are done,
Now that we find that we have none?
About the Creator
Thomas Sebacher
A writer and editorialist from Missouri writing about history, philosophy, and politics. I provide leftist views and social commentaries upon a variety of topics.
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