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Some Times You Come Face To face with Your Self
There are hours the mirror does not lie,
And silence rings louder than bells in the sky.
A whisper comes from the shadowed wall—
“Remember?”—and you do. You recall it all.
The smile you gave too late to save,
The rose that wilted on a borrowed grave.
Your name still floats in someone’s sigh—
You left, and never said goodbye.
Your hands are clean, but not your soul,
You bartered truth for sweet control.
What price is peace, if peace is numb?
The ghosts you fled—they always come.
And love—poor love—you turned away,
Afraid it asked too much to stay.
Now here you stand, with breath to give,
But still unsure you want to live.
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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