My Beard

This beard tells me
I will effect change,
I will outlast
For I now recall how
I was told myriad times
As a frightened child
By the bullies and the doubters
And weird interlopers
That I would never make it so far
As to be something of the man.

Yet here I am still;
Wide-eyed, narrow exposure,
I grew up believing the wolf alarms
Long after my peers had departed
For work and wives while I remained
Faint-hearted. Some said
My heart was not for restarting,
That I would not last until the morning,
And although my hand is sometimes
Shaking uncontrollably,
And although I cannot do so much
That all the others do so well,
My beard in the morning-room mirror
Through blind grit and bare graft
Tells me I am alive in daylight-bells,
My beard tells me, irrevocably,
That without the silent breaking
There is little point in a spell.

Mirror Image

This is me
In the mirror,
Unless
It is not;
Who can say
One way
Or another?
So I walked through
Shimmers of smooth
Glazed glass
To find out, departed,
Whether I would last,
Assessed my self
And was no better off.

Then you strolled by the mirror
And inside I was trapped.
I rapped against its surfaces
As unmoved you moved by.
I had to bear witness
As you lived
And you died;
I slumped behind that dreary
Veneer
And for several years
Here and there
Cried.

I found a way,
To step around that mortal frame,
And could see myself there,
I appeared just the same
As I watched myself say
“This is me
In the mirror,
Unless
It is not;
One way
Or another,
Who can say
And who cannot?”

Mirror Image

I became an image of me.
Too late, I wondered
Where my true self should be.
All this time squandered
In the mirror image of me.

I cried out once, inside my love,
The replica baffled my sounds;
So, hidden in hollows
I caused all the sorrows,
Treading his unhallowed ground.

Look at the colours they said
Look at these bones so profound.
They could not have known
If I am kind, to suppose,
Of how I remained below ground.