Flame In the Mirror

The prism had reflected a crumbling schism of broken glass for far too long A mosaic with sharp spikes and edges imprinted on a breaking point of shards Copious cornucopia scattered over a trapdoor of lost fragments in disarray Is the whole more than the sum of its part when there is a hole at the centre How does one create a hologram when light has faded all shades of colours In which the shadows of memories fail to illuminate meaningful anticipation Tim’s gaze fell on the mantel piece towering over the time worn fireplace Perched on the crumbling wall of passion surrounded by ash crested tiles Ornaments collected and surpassed by engraved chinks in the passage of time He got out a scraper and sand paper to lure wood worm out of the darkened Grooves and hollow burrows leading from an illusion of truthful misconception The fire had gone cold no ember just decrepit burns on the disintegrating grid Tim stared into the chimney searched for an oracle from soot and from sorrow Yearned for passion and a few bits of ember to alight from hard frozen pain His focus ascended to a cracked mirror above framed with ivory and marble Rose petals and ivy adorning a longed-for metaphor on the margins of truth A whole mirror cabinet exploded in the diaphanous mind full of distortion Pierced his eyes stroked a few lonely tears once he burnished the pine surface Inhaled turpentine paint stripper and uncovered a labyrinthine underworld maze Sand paper was not merely enough and linseed oil would not paper over cracks He could not let go of the image of parabolic imagination that right there hidden Under dust and grime was a hidden treasure parchment paper and fountain pen One last look and Tim realized he did not wish for a mirror image because that Would be solely a mirage quite fantastical and delirious but fraught just the same He needed just one more mirror for the mirror to take a close look of himself 26th February 2019