Reflection Poems - Poems about Reflection

Marathon of Memories

The morning fog low over the empty streets,
soft as a whispered promise.
My shoes slapped the pavement in steady rhythm--
each step a heartbeat counting the miles.
I had yet to run—and those I’d left behind.

Streetlamps stretched shadows across brick walls.
Long, crooked shapes that seemed to shiver.
A dog barked somewhere—
sharp, sudden—
and I remembered even echoes can run far.

I

Reflection

Reflection. What is it to you?
Reflection. What is it to me?

To me, it is a look back into yesterday
In search of ancestral wisdom.

To me, it is a beneath the surface consideration
Of my present situation in hope of obtaining
Gratification and a measure of growth herein.

To me, it is a hopeful and visual anticipation
Of a better tomorrow.

To

I would let him die

I would see him die, rather than saving him.

I don't know what his life could be after he dies, or if he would be saved.

If someone dies, that person is remembered, would be praised for his good deeds, or criticized for words he never meant in that way.

But I will have the thought that he

Why you like imperfection

If you look at a still pond,
you’ll see your reflection,
but it’s more vivid or unclear to see
because it is not meant for showing your reflection.

A mirror was created for that job,
but why do people like to see their reflection in water
when it’s not as clear as a mirror?

Because, at the end,
people like the imperfect thing
in

Reflection in Their Eyes

Being great is in my destiny, they say.
I have a hidden talent, they say.
Am I blind, or is the world buried under sand?
Hidden and being expected to thrive is like sipping air or dust for soul.
Is it just me or is it all of us?
They expect the unexpected but when things go south,
You're left to

Love can be materialistic

Love is not something that belongs only to a living soul.
It could be anything your soul is tied to.
Neither human nor god,
but something you chose above them both—
that is what love truly is.
You look at it and know you cannot live without it.
It is not a person, nor devotion.
That is love.

Shifting Frames

The glass once lucid
now deflects glow differently.

A chuckle clenched in the wind,
blanching and flaming.
Where were we?

Footprints echo, retreat, advance
sagging floor, missing nails.

Not long enough--
like a wheeze folding in and out,
a beam of light held in a still moment.

Sagging floor, nails missing,
steps forth, then retreat.
Where were we,
blanching and flaming,
a chuckle loosed in the wind—

now the glass,

Cracked Reflection

I look in the mirror and what do I see?
A stranger, a ghost, pretending to be me.
Skin stretched tight on a frame I resent,
A body I wear like it’s paying the rent.

Eyes that avoid, lips that press thin,
A war with the world that’s fought from within.
I paint on a face like a mask, like a

Reflection

Tackling a slick problem like D’Alembert’s paradox— 
a cylinder set in motion, destined to roll on and on— 
My fresh numerical method spoke in the same voice, 
but sparked sharp debate—someone blamed me for ignorance. 
Until a quip cracked the tension: “D’Alembert’s paradox doesn’t account for lubrication.” 

Truths can slice deep, sharper than we expect,

Racing against time

Racing against time.
Sailing the hustle tide.
We work where odds outweigh opportunity.

We don't follow systems, we make them.
Children of the soil, barefoot and unshaken.
Belief, the only wealth we ever owned.
Pots kept breaking at the doorway,
So we removed the doors.

We eat what we grow,
but we also grow from what we never had.
No silver spoons,
Just wooden hope and

Retro-reflection and Afterglow

Is knowing what's known
enough, or must you know it
beyond the pretense
to feelings and perception ~
with bright light glow in its shine

Wisdom

The bloom starts no repentance,
it is not afraid of the slip just yet.
each gentle wind is a sigh from the sky.
be scented now, then learn to die.
It is the fleeting we become.
in how we glow before we've gone.

reflection

cold floor, presses into my bones
whispering
its time for this color to go
today, i want her back
so into my wounds seep the chemicals
that i used to destroy myself,
hoping you'd see her too

pushing down into me,
this was never how you saw me
not until now

how happy it'd make her to know
that i lost track
but how sad she'd be,
if

THE PRIMAL WHIRLWIND

A clash between two atoms.
An explosion — the Big Bang.
And so it began: with an eruption.

A cry of fire.
A chaotic dance of matter.
A beginning born of rupture.

How could it have been otherwise,
when creation itself began with conflict?

And here we are—
millions of years later—
on a planet of conflict.

A whirlwind of forces,
an endless struggle between people,
between ideas,
between

Holier than the Creator

Adam didn't come alone
Satan came down with him.
Adam bore children, Satan did too.

Adam’s children built with sweat,
Raised homes from dust and prayer.
Satan’s children built with fire,
Raised empires from despair.

One sowed wheat in barren soil,
The other sowed doubt in hearts.
They both work hard.
They both dream big.
They both shape the world.

God gave faith as a compass,
Satan forged

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