Faces In the Mirror

I look in the mirror | and see my father's face, that accusing eye now judging self: "how did it get to be this way"... The moon's reflective ray, unveils truth in the mirror- and it's grandpa | in our early years stained with alcohol stained with tears, the blood of sons as red as Russia | Stalin's disgrace, broken faces, sullen, confined in the mirror each reflecting self |true communism in whole puddles of blood and roses twisted, in barbed wire now hold images of mom | and I see her face too like an angel's, an innocence fallen with the first touch of abuse to a a life of hell, and refuse to accept that these faces are all mine and I could go back a hundred years and see them all, freefalling through layers of pain, but I wipe my tears, and seek to see through it all my self, my image, my soul again.