MIRROR...MIЯЯOЯ...

I remember well

A time when I wore my youthful crown proudly

When disdain dripped haughtily from my pores

My body unblemished, my smile radiant

a perfect temple to the gods

When the worshipful mirror was my friend

Speaking truth, never holding back...

Now it hesitates, afraid to tell me of the ravages

of cruel time upon my denial of unstoppable

evolving maturity

She looks so angry, thought the poor

kind-hearted mirror

Her crown has become a bit tattered

her dress ill-fitting, how she must have fought

to zip herself into her long ago youthful slenderness

forgetting the needling ache in the crook of her flesh

which bulges a bit, pinched tightly with pride

though she stood erect, eyes watering a tiny bit

weathering pain for youthful glory

The image staring back at me was intense

A scornful sneer upon her face

Yet I could bet you a king's ransom

That it was I who stood in front of that mirror

smiling sweetly

In long ago youthful radiance and glow...

She was older though, her skin had lost

Some of its fresh elasticity

Her eyes held pain and the sadness of

harsh and cruel experiences

Looking at me yet seeing through me, looking

Beyond, to a place which she would rather

forget she had been

Her lips wore no sheen of adornment

While mine shone red and pouting

With a smile that still held promise

And a heart filled with hopes of new love

Her waistline had grown a bit

Although not enough to be unattractive

Her shoulders had bowed down a bit too

as if a ghostly weight resided there

As if carrying the world upon her shoulders.

Why was she so angry at me

Was it my fault that the world had been harsh

That life had bled her dry of all the love and kindness

that once had held her head erect and her neck firm

and to which she had given without asking for anything

in return

Did they know

That now all she wanted to do was sit and rest

Maybe travel the world and live just for herself

Leaving all the cares and worries to the past

where they can languish into forgetfulness.

Looking closer I realized that I needed to accept

which was the real me

I still see myself young and fresh, filled with promise.

She insists on bidding me wake up to reality

"Gracefully surrender the things of youth", she croaks

"NO! You be old and bitter if you want to, my heart

still feels young and I will live as such

I will fight to the bitter end to be relevant

and beautiful!!!!

We both turn and walk away

her to her pouting and unrelenting sadness

me to live and fight, enjoying life to its fullest

Why should I not see my beauty in the mirror

Reflecting youth and vigor

I dress myself ten years younger than my age

yet modestly

Most times I still turn a head or two.

When I go down

It will be with both gloves on

Fighting to the bitter end

My way, sweetly dancing in the rain!!!

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