With fear and trepidation,
he asks the silent mirror:
''Me, that's supposed to be me?''
The mirror remains silent,
much to his dismay,
so once again he asks:
''Can that possibly be me?''
''Surely I look much more distinguished,
less haggard and filled with anguish'',
but the mirror says nothing,
it's still not answering.
''Why do the eyes look so sad,
I am after all, a very happy lad.
Come on, you mirror on the wall,
you, who supposedly know it all!''
The mirror remains silent,
blank, and perfectly still.
What else can it do,
it doesn't speak at will.
''What I see, that's just not me,
it is not true, nor reality.
I am a man of quite some standing,
some even say, quite commanding!''
''So, speak up, you lying piece of glass,
I am a man, a man of class,
I demand an answer, and an answer right now,
the reflection I see, is it true somehow?''
Impatiently waiting for the mirror to reply
he knows if it did, it would be a great surprise.
Mirrors don't speak nor have an opinion,
reflections belong to the imagination's dominion.
The reflection we see when we're looking in the mirror,
is often a mixture of both truth and error.
Some aspects of who we are, we alone can see,
yet there are others, visible to you, but not to me.
''Looking in the mirror is very strange; we only see what we
want to see, good or bad.''
(Bonnie Langford)
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