Mirror Image

Resembles me, and not me, 
each facet and contour 
memorial of that which used to be. 
Yet unreal, alien somehow; 
serene and yet rattled, disturbed; 
a reversal of the before and after, 
wrinkle free, no lines of laughter 
nor crow's feet patterns tap dancing the eyes. 
Me, but drained of character, 
oddly lifeless, blank and expressionless 
upon the silver sheen of anti static glass. 
Back to the eyes, though, they give up 
the ghost; speak volumes of sadness, 
life and love and ages; 
of what they have seen, where they have been... 
and an inkling of Death's implacable seal. 
And still I am tired, behind youth's 
craven facade; and afraid in the place where 
my mirror image inverted and sub-conscious 
weeps and despairs, is locked away, 
a carbon copy inner self picture 
of Dorian Gray...

healthintrospectionlifenostalgiablank verse

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