Beyond the Grave of Perception

He looks at the mirror and frowns at the image ‘Is it the glass or my face that lies shattered?’ Fault lines burrowed into borrowed time Tim wonders about censorship and cracks He sees a crossdresser between sadness and joy A veil of burnt out darkness and shiny spectacles Quorum of insanity and intense beauty alike Bedlam carving out a picture of madness Frowns and scars adorn past vision of duels Of minds and a sword of common dissent A freckle hidden under three-day stubble Shadows of sleepless nights in despair They say it is the persona or mask of retreat that Enacts the drama of living enhanced by oozing Wounds of battles long gone with no victor But the lonely survivor who he has become The looking glass reflects upon wrinkles and blotches Attempting to scratch out disfigured pit falls of thoughts Discoloured from jagged emotions at face value Shades of discontent imprinted on countenance As Tim tries to make sense of deceitful senses Divulges the distorted prism that he has become The mirror cracks into mute darkness and doubt There is no escape and the trap door stays shut When eternity of his ragged convulsion has passed He decides that cutting through insurmountable walls With a razor would only heap more meaningless blood Whereas accepting containment can be a close shave He pierces the conception of failure and reassembles Broken shards into a mosaic of dis-ambiguous beauty ‘I am who I was and will reassign polarity to the centre’ He marvels in ink of realignment and scribes a way forth 01st December 2019