Wednesday, 16 May 2012


They say the windows are the eyes to the soul you know
Within them you can see who someone is,
Who they wish to be
What they are, what they aren't
It's where their deepest and darkest secrets can be found
In just one look
One glance
Through them all one is becomes within grasp

But no one ever talks about what they see

Windows aren't one sided after all
And as you can see into me I too can see out
And my refection shows someone I am not

I do not know this man
This cant be who I am
Why do they seem so plain
Just run of the mill
Lost and alone
Sad and depressed

This is the face of a man who dreams to be more
A man who's heart screams to be someone else
Somebody worthy of humanity
But though this man has big dreams he sees none of them within his reach
This face that I see... depresses me
How could anyone be so hurt
In such pain
Wishing that death would come and take him away...
From it all

This man sees no joy in life

He feels no love, sees no comfort, and is numb to all feeling except for cold for his heart has become like ice
Frosted over by the hate that consumes him
The self doubt that surrounds him
It has been made cold by the many times life has pushed him aside and destroyed all the things that made him smile

All he does now is cry

Cries for the man he can not be
Cries for the man he is but hates
Cries for the love he never receives
Cries for a hope and strength that flees from him with each breath
Yet still he cries, and cries some more,
Until his tears leave drops across my mirror and I can see him no more

But I hear his sobs

They torture me
The depths of the agony within them torment me
Each short breath
Each loud scream, stalled gasps
Each sniffle brings me closer to the brink of insanity
Who is this man and why cant I just walk away
Why cant I stop looking into this mirror even though it's now covered in tears

Tears that leave lines as they slowly fall making paths in the condensation caused from this man's breath

I see a broken image of this man and realize, that he is broken
He has been shattered like a perfect wine glass
Once beautiful and full of purpose now in pieces on the ground
Unable to reach its full potential with no possible way of being mended
This person is now trash
Glass shards swept up and put in a bag waiting for trash day
Soon to be lost forever

As I stare through the paths made by this mans tears
Something compels me
Pulls me, orders me, demands of me that I take one more look
I must see this man one last time

I slowly wipe the mirror clean till it's as flawless as it was when I first looked upon it
I watch as this man dries the last of his tears
Their vacant expression grows the more I try to comprehend what my eyes are trying to say
I search for the answers... but they elude me
I cant seem to figure this out but I'm not surprised
Some things are just beyond the simplicity of my mind

But there is something...  something interesting
Something quite strange

A stranger looks out at me from the mirror, but he has my eyes


  1. This is such a beautiful poem... I know you will probably think odd of me... ... but its the story that is tells, the truth it unfolds... the revealing ... that captures beauty.. even in the pain...

    1. Thanks and I don't think it odd. Glad you enjoyed the poem. The poem actually came from the idea of the last line. The speaker goes through the whole poem looking at himself and says they have the same eyes. I do keep to themes but this time i dropped the eye them after the first stanza and went relfection. I thought it would make the last line more powerful... no idea if it worked or not.

  2. This poem has great depth and is an interesting read, but is this poem based upon your own personal experiences as it jumps from first to second person almost throughout? If this assumption is correct then do consider that life is incredibly complex with many doors that open, whilst others slam shut adding to one's uncertainties. I am sure that through your writing, optimism and perseverance the breakthrough that leads to success will happen, it just takes time and lots of commitment. I have enjoyed reading your words today Samuel and good luck with your fifth manuscript.

    I will be reading more of your work my friend...

    Happy Easter...


    1. Thanks. And I always jump because Eben though In theory writing should be in one point of view in actually no one ever really thinks enteirly like that. It's near imposible to Talk to yourself if both voices are in first person. Especialy when in this poem the man is thinking the person isn't him. So has top distance himself somehow.

      Most of my poems aren't about me. Just musings on how I see the world in general. But some of them are. I was always told poetry is about how the words connect with the reader. It's a personal experience. I both write and read under that Pretense. That the reader will get something from it without stressing over if it has anything to do with the writer of whatever poetry they may read.

      I reediting phase on book. And I excited.