Mirrors

 

The mirror in my mind can’t hide the hideous lines

scored so deeply upon my brain

by knives belonging to assassins, liars and thieves,

who tried to carve their names into my heart

just to watch me bleed.

 

Portraits from cadavers soaked in pools of blood

become snapshots taken in most painful moments,

stuck to the wall in my head,

like some ghoulish police photos of murder victims,

always black and white poses

of my lifeless would be ashen corpse.

 

I have learned the bitter truth of life’s justice system,

how crimes against trust are never punished,

bearing this brutal brand marks of cruelty

served as emblems etching endeavor’s earnest essence,

embraced as the survivor’s painful medallions

worn at night when you’re alone

and the only sounds you recall

are the echoes from your wounded soul.

 

In the cold, somber darkness

where victory is moan of hollowness,

there are the softer sounds from peace’s serenade

as a celebration concerto

for the joy that you still have pulse

in the midst of all the stitches.