Mirrored Copy
In silvered depths, a phantom twin resides,
A silent echo where my image glides.
Each gesture mine, a mirrored pantomime,
Yet lacks the warmth, the essence that is mine.
My right hand raised, it's left that takes the flight,
A world reversed in pale and shimmering light.
The laughter caught, reflected back to me,
A hollow sound, devoid of true decree.
Does this facade, this perfect imitation,
Hold secrets deep, beyond my observation?
A consciousness confined within the glass,
Observing moments as they swiftly pass?
Perhaps it dreams when darkness veils the pane,
Of breaking free from this reflected chain.
To step across the cold and polished face,
And claim the life that occupies this space.
Or is it naught but light and silvered lie,
A trick of optics as the moments fly?
A constant witness, yet it cannot feel,
The weight of sorrow, or the joy that's real.
And as I gaze, a question starts to bloom,
Which is the real, and which the spectral gloom?
This breathing form that stands before the view,
Or that still copy, ever fresh and new?
For in that gaze, a fragile truth I find,
Two separate selves, forever intertwined.
One living breath, the other held in sheen,
A mirrored copy of what might have been.
©bfa042225
Copyright ©
Bernard F. Asuncion
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