Mirror

I often think

of the hours wasted

watching questions ripple

in mercurial pools of silver.

Glass framed in gilded oak,

ornate and quiet,

a door that seemingly never opens.

My reflection never smiled.

She tilted her head, uncertain,

questioning my worth.

"Who are you?" she asked,

with a smirk I knew all too well.

I looked deeper,

past the whispered twirls of auburn,

past the dappled angel kisses,

past the amber that once believe in magic,

and there,

beyond all the surface myth,

the soft flickers of a lamppost

aglow in a hushed, peaceful, cobblestone street,

fueled by starlight.

Who am I?

I am the light.

Participant's Poems