You were there,
Behind mirrors,
Bold in gold and grey,
So perfect by my side.
That I could not look away.
I took one step closer,
But you glided one behind,
To see if I was a searcher,
Questing for my kind.

But no, you weren’t broken,
Nor wounded deep as me,
I slept as a silent conch shell,
You were calling of the sea.
Mayhaps why you smiled and bowed then,
Like a dainty willow tree,
Was to know my sealed soul closer,
And see if you were the key.

Your face was running water,
I found it fathoms deep,
When I saw myself in it,
How was I not to weep?
The lines of our hands matched,
And so did our whispering heart,
Through the glass that kept us holding,
Through the glass that kept us apart.
Yet your questions I could not hear,
Neither you could answer mine,
I wonder how we still made,
The other feel truly fine.

My arms ached for your embrace,
That fragrance of your breath,
To pine for you was my life,
And to know you do too; my death.
That is why my love, sweet love,
I broke this world webbed glass,
To ebb this eternal agony,
And you to freely pass…

But where are you, O Mine,
Are you hiding amidst these shards?
Is this magic of some kind, like
That trick of missing cards?
Come out, now, O Mine,
See my blood is upon the floor,
I have been wandering this silver withering,
To be away from you no more,
O how am I to search for you,
Here, where everything is same,
How am I to call for you,
I even know not your name.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

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