my twisted face
mirror, mirror …
on the same ol’ wall …
but oh my, has something changed!
in a world where so much is
defined by appearance
I’ve been handed a shovel-full of
humility … and reality
in but an instant
I’ve become a Quasimoto -
a freak-a-zoid fool
but no Esmeralda to charm to indifference
no stone gargoyles to envy
just a little lad who can’t
understand why his Bumpa’s
face has changed so …
a world of folks who don’t know
what to say - friends and family who look
away in awkward ambivalence …
I don’t blame them -
I don’t know what to say, either
“The New Me” …
suddenly terms like “hit by the ugly stick”
have taken on a whole new import
not quite so funny as before
when it’s yourself …
I know a few people who will
find a sick and hilarious irony in it all
this mug’s for you, fellas … enjoy!
three-to-six months before it
begins to improve
and it doesn’t always …
but …
here’s the thing:
I know this holds a blessing
I know that the underlying larger
issue holds one
for we rarely grow or
attain wisdom when things are good -
when life goes smoothly
it’s the struggles that make us stronger
the mud that works the muscles
I may not see the blossom on this rose
I may only feel the thorns …
for now … but those petals will
spread in time, I’m sure …
that sweet aroma will come
I’ll reflect on this trial with new insight -
with due discernment
and whatever the looking glass
glimmers back at me
beast … or Barden
I know without question
that it will be
wearing …
a smile.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art borrowed copyright-free by the author from public domain files at FreePik / Picasa )
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