A Poet Stands Before the Mirror of Time
A poet stands before the mirror of time,
and in seeing there, his reflection,
Recounts the days, the years of his life,
and in not seeing then, a perfection.
The image there portrays a face,
not knowing a who, or what, or the why,
The truth escapes into its special void,
and is cloaked by its veil, as a lie.
A life is so full of its ups and downs,
and much stress and strain, over time,
It takes a tole on the figure of a man,
unknowing, a reason or the rhyme.
In silence, and before him, an image stands,
yet, he knows this story well,
In words on the page, his record is kept,
and by the ink, his fine story to tell.
The beauty of the world and things within,
by the written line, it may reveal,
While the ugliness, and all the worst in life,
may be hidden by a hand, there to conceal.
Searching a face, with a close look into the eyes,
a soul and strong spirit, we may behold,
The power of faith, is held so dearly there,
and this is the message, which we are told.