Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror

in the mirror I do not see what I do not wish to see
the reality of that sight offends, my reflection exasperates, thus
I do not spend time, as Narcissus might, reviewing and regaling
in my image, my beauty does not lie in my reflection
kind sirs, it does not lie in your reflection either
the poet is not seer nor visionary, one supposed to see
through supernatural insight, to what the future holds
nor sibyl, that woman of ancient times, purported to
utter the oracles and prophecies of god

if mirrors lie, than I’ve been cursed with deceits, with
libelous spewings from my own reflection I fear
do not look in the mirror I chastise, those of a spiritual
bent claim it possible to gaze upon one’s reflection in
that silvered device and repeat, I love thee, I love thee
self, a concept as vacuous and repellent as a slimy
reptile crossing my flesh, a heinous thought, but it is
only my reflection not myself therein encircled, reflected
back what I stand before

make peace with the mirror, comb not your hair nor
shave your scruffy jowls, look not deeply into one’s own
eyes and admire one’s beauty, that fleeting sprite that comes
and fades, as it will, as it must, because beauty,
another name for vanity, which haunts those who posses
and ridicules those who wish its gifts
beauty does not last, no longer than the days it takes
the red red rose to bloom from bud to full figured
flower, to wither, die, its rusty red brown petals,
edges curled with decay, fall to the ground, no!
beauty is transitory and words, the art that beauty conveys
can, if acceded half a chance, last forever

gaze not upon your image, remove that vanity from your
heart, that obsession to possess some transitory fleeting
gift and think instead, of art who as beauty’s handmaiden
she who will outlast us one and all, she who reposes in
majesty, gilt-framed paintings where beauty, the goddess
of deceit can linger forever, untouched by time
or circumstance, though her images adapt as social graces
demand in this or that time fleeting moment, beauty is
but a wastrel, a thing of flesh and bone
only art can last forever

look not for your heart within that mercury-lined glass
you will not find yourself there, only Narcissus’ reflection
staring back, his efforts to ensnare and drag you deep with
his pool of replicated light, your death awaits staring into
forever, blindly as beauty wanes, with time and only
love and art remain


13 thoughts on “Mirror, Mirror

  1. thank you, so much for making me reflect the vanity of the mirror lol it’s true in the end what really remains is love and art thank you for openning my ayes and makes me what’s real and get out from my dark fears. Thanks for helping me.

    Liked by 1 person

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