A Hall of Mirrors
ill conceived
With dark reflections
to deceive
From front or back
and side to side
Each look impounds
what time proscribes
Were you looking in
or looking out
When Alice voiced
her final shout
A dozen clonings
a thousand views
The glass your jailer
— in silver hues
(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)
Categories:
proscribes, mirror,
Form: Rhyme
THE MISNOMER LOSS
What is loss?
Loose your keys?
Your manager now has less employees?
or is it cruelly cross,
like a fatal disease?
Did your child die
while visible to your eye?
Is justice for you nigh?
Did a flood wipe it all away,
too sudden to even ask why?
We need a much better word for these,
for losses like these are tragedies.
Not a bank error, oh please!
Rather it's the most painful horror,
and not like missing keys.
There is no word that describes
the pain and suffering of a dead son.
You can't save him; but you get proscribes,
and when it is done -
you are not the only one,
among few knowing loss describes not demise.
Nor other suffering that applies
to loss, which lies.
Categories:
proscribes, loss,
Form: Rhyme