My old house stood
by a march
surrounded by bushes and rushes.
Thrown over it
garbage and faeces
sometimes,death rodents.
Disgustful it's dwellers often came up
on the portico of my house,
Intruded inside.
Yet pitiable every time
from it heard
the distress call of a frog
grabbed by a snake.
I filled the marsh with earth
cut down the bushes,
built a new house
in place of the old one.
But true to what old folks told
after a long time
it returned to me
myself felt it's dwellers.
Then, I preferred darkness,
I not be seen
and silence
listening their clatter,
wishing the bushes
myself to hide.
As I look at my reflection, in the flat glass
hanging on the wall, I wonder who I'm really
looking at. Do I see beauty? Do I see ugliness?
Ugliness, I see, with my disgust of shame and anger
that makes the glass shatter; as is my half broken heart.
Shame is disgustful because the pain and suffering that
leads to the breaking of the colorful glass that seeks
out my Soul.
As the hot shower steams up, I clear the mirror, and I find
some type of comfort and warmth in my Soul. It is confusing,
yet, comforting. I wish that I may see the beauty in the mirror, but that will
take many mornings to find it.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.