Mirrors

Seeing past myself is more complicated than I once imagined, Though passing through often seems to work, There's more to me than the space I consume, Even if generally less than my ego claims to be, These curtains pulled to cast shadows drawn, Like paper silhouettes trimmed and pasted long on floor, Gives the impression that I'm overwhelming, Though internally I'm much much smaller, I don't claim to be anything I am not, Not because I don't aspire to be or become, Instead simply because I am not, And in reflections that forsake emotions and all thought, I can stare just a while longer, It's the fact that the other side is wrapped in solace, Like winter winds on vast plains, Airs drifting northward and out to somewhere busy, But there is no burden inside the other side, Just moments captured through tired eyes.