Best Broken Mirror Poems
Looking through the broken mirror of time,
I visit times and places from the past.
To have loved never should have been a crime;
Yet, somehow I was always thought of last.
The fragments grow smaller as time moves on,
And seven years of bad luck holds on tight.
My mind becomes increasingly withdrawn,
As I'm caught in this never-ending fight.
The mirror dully glistens through the years,
And the splintered pieces crumble away.
The eyes of those forgotten fill with tears,
As they remember being led astray.
What harms us most are words left unspoken;
Which leaves the mirror shattered and broken.
© 2019
A broken mirror that cuts the soul,
A broken mirror that holds control.
A broken mirror I wish to please,
A broken mirror that loves to tease.
A broken mirror I can't let go,
A broken mirror why does it show?
A broken me shattered and tired,
A broken me forever undesired.
Broken mirror
In a beautiful moon light night,
when the moon was fully bright,
I dreamt that a glow sparkling and white,
getting more power, blinded my sight.
Closer and closer into my pain,
into my body and into my vein,
stepping on my garden of youth,
it showed me fruits of wisdom and truth.
Dragging me across a valley of rain,
showered me softly, washing my sane.
It showed the autumn in a golden leaf,
hanging from a branch with tears and grief.
Hanging tightly in a stormy night,
losing the battle, losing the fight.
Asking and begging for one more chance,
there was no music, no one to dance.
There is no mirror on my wall,
spring and summer turned to fall.
Haloo
1/ 2014
A broken mirror
A gustily reflection of misfortunes
I don’t recognise myself anymore
An honest look at my dishonesty
Yes, I’m a liar
The image distorted with each retreating step of shame
I take, and I move ten steps backwards in life
The falling pieces like sharp knifes
Pierce the ground with screaming cries
No!!!
Did I just dig my own grave?
The earth bleeds (from me)
Soaking the ground with broken promises
I try to flee the scene
Hoping never to be seen
To hide from my guilty conscience
Hoping not to be convicted for seven years
By poetic justice
And the crush of his firm finger
He had pointed straight at me
The lie exposed
Blood on my hands,
My fist broke the mirror
My lack of character,
A life of no restraint
Of anger and hate
My over indulgences and cutting corners
All brought to bare
The broken mirror echoes my scattered, dying soul
It intrigues me like a thousand pieces of a puzzle,
Challenging me to put my life back together
You’re such a liar, I dare you!
If I’m honest, I know only I can,
But my inner voice is unrelenting
No you won’t you liar!
I put my neck on the block
A voluntary fratricide
To be rid of this inner, rotten core
A mind like Pandora’s box
They say garbage in garbage grows!
The contents need to be forgotten
The combination unknown
Self-destruction mode on do-not-unlock
I accept I can never run away from my own thoughts
This outer shell content with my decision
For seven years it exhausted me
It haunted me,
Assimilated anew in the fields of second chances
Reassembled from pieces of glass and blood
I return to me a complete reflection
In my dream-
there is a broken mirror
it is so gorgeous and wood-framed
but is shattered.
It stands in an ancient room and is beyond repair.
The mirror a reminder
of beauty
that is fading, or perhaps a death.
Oh, it could be grief, decay and withering away.
I have plenty of that within my soul,
or it could be accepting aging
represented by that ancient room,
as nothing is forever in this life.
Oh, I am afraid of this dream as it is full of unknown,
let me fly back now to my cozy bed
a girl sleeping . . .
________________________
December 1, 2016
Poetry/Verse/The Broken Mirror
Copyright Protected, ID 16-854-479-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the Contest 244,
sponsor, Brian Strand
Fourth Place
A Broken Mirror
A Distorted Face
A Shattered Heart
A Clear Distaste
A Fallen Tear
A Reddened Eye
A Downturned Mouth
A Year Gone By
A Loaded Gun
A Finished Fear
A Bloodied Wall
A Broken Mirror
Its amazing,
how we'd rather
break bones and
mirrors,
than deal with
a broken heart.
morning rhythm is interrupted
debris from the ceiling falls on her last used paper plate
i wake up with an six month odor with no hygiene whatsoever
i care not for my job, my bills, my family, or even my life
no i take no drink
no i take no drug
no i have not a thought of suicide
i just think of her in a trance of oblivious carelessness
i am a hoarder via unknown circumstances....(but i know)
afternoon distortion is welcomed
dust from the air tickles the sensitive hairs in around my nostrils
i just sit anywhere thinking of her without regard for consequences
yes i blame her
yes i blame myself
yes i merge the two on purpose
i just miss the hell out of her in that manly way that constipates the tear ducts
i am the main public enemy number one of myself....(and i know)
nighttime disorientation is oddly celebrated
i say my prayers inadequately with a false hope masquerading as a source of faith and truth
i just lay in the bed pretending the water stained ceiling has a skylight in the middle
no i have no dream
no i have no nightmare
no i have no insomnia
i just wish her was here healing me with her divine guarantees
i am antagonistic fool with paintbrush splinters, a broken easel, and a deflated ego....(i never knew)
Our love was destined to fail,
I tried to save it without avail,
For between us, you built a fence,
Leaving me weak without any
defense...
You turned my heart into a fortress
Inhabited by a soul sad and
hopeless
But time has done the healing,
Making me self-confident with new
feelings...
In the Mighty One above,
I found fortitude, peace and love...
I got the courage to bury my past
And forgetting a love I failed to
cast...
Clearly, you became a loser and
sinner
While I became stronger and a
winner...
Now, I stand on a solid ground,
Hoping for a real love to be found...
Romeo Della Valle-NYC
silent dares
slow engraved exchanges
the primitive evolution of rage
only the fittest will survive
hostility has a spot at the table
there are no more place settings
the silver is set out perfect
a spoon, casts an oblong reflection
now, even the utensils see
there is nothing left of self respect
only the silver distorted version
of who I don't know, it is not me
strange little pieces
I swallow them over and over
when no one is watching
jagged little shards
cutting away at my insides
beauty she cries night and day
she has no idea that I’m killing her
I want her to stay
beauty is almost gone
the last parts, tiny odd slivers
are hidden away, in the bottom of my closet
vague, sharp and bitter no longer beauty
the path of least resistance
it's the only way to success
real images jump and regress
nothing takes a shape or focus
the fall and crash of glass
a precious mirror reflects what matters
beauty is unaware
images move slower and unclear
flashes of my father in a mirror
in this corner the heavyweight contender
my husband, my beloved, beauty's keeper
time merges and flickers closer
the path of least resistance
it's the only way to success
Terry D’Arcy-Ryan
Whenever I look into a mirror
I see you: Dad and Mum.
I savour the pangs of the damage you’ve done.
I become drunk with hate.
I break the mirror, hoping to break your faces.
But then I see more faces,
shades of your faces in diversity.
Then I realize I’d just broken an innocent mirror.
I try gathering the broken pieces,
but they never come together again.
What is broken is broken.
When I peer into the broken mirror,
I see multiple faces,
I hear multiple voices of me,
I see a thousand bodies of me.
My friends do not know which one is me.
I don’t even know my real friends.
I’m a shadow of everything abnormal.
Broken mirrors often remain broken forever.
Stigmatized.
Traumatized.
Swept away.
And should any lucky broken piece be recycled,
it might never be mirror again.
I was born guilty!
Call me a broken mirror.
You can’t mend my broken pieces.
Call me a bullet wound.
My scars, eternal with sore memories.
I am a prisoner of nuptial disaster
born guilty of a failed cosmetic marriage.
They say I’m guilty,
I wasn’t caught in the act,
but born looking guilty.
Mama said she’d have eloped in time.
but then I gatecrashed before she could sign her divorce papers.
Even before they paid her dowry.
She won’t forgive me for ruining her belly.
For engulfing her embryo and refusing to let go.
Even when she said no.
I thought it’d be a triumphant landing
But only the midwives cheered my arrival.
More of a routine ritual than a candid cheerio.
I looked back to whence I’d come,
but I can’t turn the hands of time.
Alas there i am
big fpur oh harriet
i see no master plan
father
who are you today
mother was
a mistress
a doctor now a maid
you said the children were putting apples in the lemonaide stand
and you sia why not limes like cats
and thats when it beagan
the trump of the taking of power
Broken mirror
scattred cards on the wall
of mindcrafted clandestine secrecy of knowledge
study me closely
read the books and step into the shrine
Broken mirror
i will saty here
until the end of time
re readin re writing
studying until my return to figure out
what it was that i did wrong
broken mirror
we love you
soo much and more
broken mirror
you think you found me but really im not here
nor there
subconcious snivellings whinings pinings cryongs
doubtings of the literate soul
Broken mirror
broken mirror
since the beginning of the language of the souls
of echoes
and the one who could hear
who echoed back
broken mirror
broken mirror
i know i am not alone
broken mirror
broken mirror
m I to ares or ess
I had a broken mirror once,
it told me what to wear
and if I dared defy it's power,
it said things I couldn't bear.
I had a broken mirror once,
it told me what to eat -
that cracker, there, is just enough
to feel lighter on your feet.
My broken mirror followed me
past car windows, to the shops.
It told me I should hide away,
but that at some point this would stop.
My broken mirror made me think
that it cared about my health -
this is for your own good, it said,
but keep it to yourself.
My broken mirror gave me reasons
that I should stay in bed,
and I used its shards to feel some pain
for on the inside I felt dead.
But my broken mirror lied to me
when it told me I was bad.
The glass, as dirty as it was,
stopped me seeing what I had.
My mirror isn't broken now,
I fixed it, all alone
and though it took some parts of me
they're slowly coming home.
My mirror is feeling better now,
I've got my mirror back.
So, now even when I wear THOSE jeans
it never calls me fat.
My new mirror doesn't talk to me,
doesn't tell me what to do.
Although it sometimes nods when I walk past
as though it likes the view.
With a sudden gush of air, the mirror, hanging on the wall
Was broken into hundreds of pieces.
Collecting all of them and uniting in a frame
Carefully I hung up the mirror again.
When I stood in front of it, I was so much astonished,
Found hundreds of ‘I's, staring at me -
With so many faces of mine, mostly being unknown
I got astounded and kept on looking at them! !
They were fat and lean, some looked so cunning
Some of them were so gentle and benign.
There, I found some devils even,
Very cruel and ugly, so many! !
Looking at them I was so surprised
But they all were staring at me,
So many ‘I's being unknown and weird
I was just comparing me with them.
Feeling nervous, I left that place
And looked back there again,
I found them all at a time
Were grinning at me with a tease.
I bowed down in front of that broken mirror
To reveal and expose me,
Helping me to be cautious enough
To analyze and correct myself.
====================
Amitava (2.11.20145) 7-00 am
©ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY AMITAVA SUR
Infinite dreams and aspirations grew in me,
From the fears I was free.
Now my heart is fragmented and broken
where prevails suffocation and pain.
As cracked mirror cannot be one
So my heart is forbidden forlorn.
Hopes have dashed the ground
By infinite reasons I am bound
My heart is crippled,
My mind is washed.
Innocence has vanished.
Agony, anguish, melancholy, lament and languish.
Will my heart be one again?
Promises broken kisses stolen
Will I ever reach the goal?
Aspired my unquenched soul.
For all sad words of tongue and pen,
THE SADDEST ARE THESE,
It might have been.
Helpless, lonely in predicament am I
Who can hear my passionate cry?
I feel I am diametrically lost
In nature's flow I'm only lost.