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
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