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Poem

The exterior mirrors from within reflect
Saddened universes, known only to their shadows.
Not in the fears of the night, nor in the day’s bright gleam,
But in the diffuse light where silence blossoms, drowsy.
&quot;Not are,&quot; echoes whisper for those who refuse to listen,
&quot;The so-called deeds of evil men&quot; - a murmur, a cry,
A burden on hearts that were once healthy in love,
But now they are dried bones beneath garments of regret.
Each reflection, an untold, hidden story,
Hearts - secret chambers filled with echoes and shards of thought,
For &quot;the closing of the eyes of the masses&quot; - a curtain of mist,
Leaves the truth to lie silenced, in sadness that gently rocks.
We have only to look with the mind's eye into the inner abyss,
Towards the place where the voice of justice turns away with a sigh,
Where &quot;the real problem lies&quot; - the cloak of disillusionment,
Tightly sewn over gray days, over nights full of wormwood.
The day comes when the mirror shatters into millions of shards,
Hoping that each fragment brought into the shining sunlight
Will reflect not only the silence and blindness it is tired of,
But will show the way to light, to building a better world.

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