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Tantrums in Symmetry
Before now, I saw you my reaper, the mirror of me
Spitting insolent bile any time I'd spend a penny or three
Simultaneously scrutinising every crooked line and nook
Your spiteful slights were stolen straight from my playbook
Before now, I saw you my reaper, the mirror of me
Clear as the day must become night, I cannot trick thee
Your mimicry of me conspires characteristics of a clown
But my face seems to be stained with a perpetual frown
Again and again, I saw you my reaper, the mirror of me
Impersonating each fragmented element of my identity
Your sad need to emulate me has left such a bitter taste
Wicked and bloodthirsty, still I continued a frenzied pace
But now, I really see you my reaper, the mirror of me
Do not pose it to me, that this is any pharaonic mystery
The torments and tantrums have become tardy and tired
How can you stand it? Your tenacity ought to be admired
Eternally, if I must see you my reaper, the mirror of me
Mocking my futile efforts to shake off such symmetry
Perhaps if I approach you with more affectionate eyes
We might here contrive some sort of compromise
Copyright ©
Kate Davies
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