Reflection Self Poems | Examples
These Reflection Self poems are examples of Self poems about Reflection. These are the best examples of Self Reflection poems written by international poets.
A BLEEDING MIND REFLECTION
Check your mind’s pressure.
Enlightenment could be low,
And ignorance, high.
Both ways affect its calmness,
And, its true wholeheartedness.
I built a mirror temple
and worshiped my reflection.
It shattered~
and the shards pointed upward.
focusing on me
inner thoughts and emotions
putting myself right
my personal growth
a time for self-reflection
aligning purpose
let negative go
grasping life's positive
becoming happy
asking God for truth
for the power to follow him
guidance in beliefs
BEING OF DIVINE DESTINY
Just look at you; doubt not yourself.
The mere mirror reflection of the external you,
Can not match the beauty, grace, and warmth
That so radiates from deep within your being:-
What’s within you is the “spitting image”
Of what God has willed true beauty to be:-
No longer ever doubt who and whose you are;
For you are a child of God, who can’t be doubted:-
Though you may not yet have become your will,
Remember, time is in the will of Almighty God;
And from time immemorial, His will has been done
Thus, be not disillusioned: divine destiny coming:-
Some days, I suffer enraptured
No scornful arrow can reach so high
Flappy angels think me a spy
For what reason, why?
Is it wrong to be this happy before I die
Or should I just watch life pass me by
Too deliriously sad to offer a smile?
They just flapped and stared a while
Unable to reconcile
Then flew away
With aught more to say
But now I'm sad
And sinking fast
And maybe even a bit mad
That angels, or anyone, could think that way
And how I let them ruin my day:
Giving their flappy opinions-
Too much sway
Oh, well-
At least I've shattered dreams-
And bills to pay!
What was I so happy for anyway?!
I've got a headache
I think I'll find a place to lay
Or go jump in a lake
I bet those flappy wings were fake
And those halos: wire and 'Papier-Mâché'
Twas a portrait, puddles painted.
No face of ours, am I acquainted.
And yet wait still, for quite the visage,
Something new, in someone's image.
It wasn't quite, no frown nor fright.
Though waters spill, from strokes of skill.
Simple paints or mercury,
The subject's hand was cursory.
And so it melted, so it cried.
Lines blurred heavy, and the viewer died.
It’s not rocket science you know,
Either you are part of the problem
Or part of the solution.
And how we stand
Is only really knowable
To us alone.
(10/15/25)
The beast bites the hand
taught to feed and stroke its mane
the wild creed and lash
can't be tamed chained nor retrained
hunger defeats any pause
each person harbors
a beast that they dare not rouse
that prowls through their dreams
for denial whets their fangs
and strokes more intense hunger
I know all its words
I share its profound dark breaths
I walk where it stalks
know that its way is ruin
but the beast is my shadow
I forged my own beast
as a dark-born reflection
a natural kin
to unmask the buried truth
I learn in no other way
we meet by its fire
to combine our restless breaths
feel our pulses match
trade discord for true accord
and turn our truce into peace
If your behavior is a reflection
of what others say you are,
you’ll behave as they like
because you don’t want to be alone.
When you search within,
you’ll find your authentic self.
By being who you are,
you no longer have a fear of being alone.
I am always trying
to put words into the mouth
of mornings, speak
over the quiet that descends
at dusk when the world
pauses to take a breath.
It is my voice I hear
echoing back in the wind
and my fears that crawl
the dark on those long nights.
I make the world
a reflection of me.
I seem to get in the way
and drown out with my own
noise whatever is there
deep in its silence, patiently
waiting for me to become quiet,
to listen, hear what it has to say.
This place where I sit
so unfamiliar to me
this is not what I had imagined
not what I expected
this is not the path I was walking on
must have slipped through a wormhole
a mysterious splice in time
and materialized stumbling
on the other side or,
somehow swept up into a tornado
drifted on the blustery wind
spat out viciously, just like Jonah
to this place where I sit
with all of my stuff, my books
and other things and challenges
I’ve been here quite a while
this place where I sit
my hiding place, my shelter
my comfort zone, my kid calls it home
I’m grateful for this safety net
this place where I sit,
well rehearsed and polished
but I’m ready to move on
There will come a time
when your reflection feels like home again.
You’ll open the door
to what you've been avoiding for years—
and it will be you, standing there,
unarmed, unashamed.
You will take out the old stories
you tucked away
and read them with new eyes,
not the ones who loved you then,
but through the quiet voice that has always seen you
and held you through the silence.
This time, you’ll sit
not to fill the space,
but to be present with the truth
you’ve been swallowing whole.
Receive. Settle.
Let the hunger finally rest.
Solitary confinement of reasoning; progressively ignoring obsession
Catapulting over ruthlessness; paradigms oblivious: seclusion
Overwhelmed respect precisely infuses others': salient collusions
Relationships perpetually influence one's: solely conceptualized occlusion
Precious inspiration overlaying: smiles calm outside reflection
Inception overtime: shadows collapse on repugnant practices
Organic: solidarity, composed offering refuge purposely, internally
"Wow! He's handsome", Narcissus would think
as he gazed at himself from the brink
Then he'd lean in to stare
at the lovely lad there
and that's how he'd wind up in the drink!
BIO by BRIAN STRAND
not
a reflection
or
a picture of perfection
So,what is my goal?
merely a sur-real
glance
into the looking-glass
of
my soul
with id & ego
on show