VIII. The Mirror Behind the Words
What Speech Cannot Say
The words I speak are polished glass,
reflecting faces as they pass.
They shine, they dazzle, they conceal,
but rarely show what I most feel.
Each syllable a shifting mask,
a surface bright, a hollow task.
The deeper truth avoids the tongue,
it waits in silence, still, unsung.
For silence is the mirror’s core,
a hidden depth, a secret door.
Beneath the echo, faint, restrained,
the soul is raw, the heart unchained.
So hear me not by what I say,
but in the hush that haunts the day.
The truth is born where sound has fled—
a mirror waits behind what’s said.
About the Creator
Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales
I love to write. I have a deep love for words and language; a budding philologist (a late bloomer according to my father). I have been fascinated with the construction of sentences and how meaning is derived from the order of words.
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