How did it happen?
You stand on the ledge
Staring, into yourself
Suspended between truth and breath
And oxygen fills your lungs
Here I am.
Rooted in my reflection
One of a kind
Trapped in time and space
A slave to decay
Held by the glass
Struggling to feel
Connected
With the image
Drawn to the spirit
Hidden treasure within
Divinely entwined
Golden and eternal
The more I see
Time evaporates
Into dust
And I wonder who I am?
———————-
Written for Poetry Jam
Life From A Park Bench 
What a gripping description, seems as if one is trapped. Lovely.
we all have to find ourselves….and what we define ourselves by as well…
who am I and who I AM play a large role in who we are….smiles.
Connecting with ourselves in the mirror is so important…realizing we are one of a kind and treasuring that image, unique because it is us….even though sometimes we look into that reflection and wonder just who we are. Thoughtful poem, Alan.
Trying to fathom who we are is something we seem to do at various points in time and certainly standing in front of a mirror triggers such questioning. Very well-expressed Alan.
Great piece. I love the feel of suspended between time and breath.
I like this one Alan. Love being reminded to be drawn to the spirit rather than the image!
The scariest reflection in the mirror for me happens at night on a pee-run, with moonlight in the glass, when my eyes seem demon-red, and the image distorted. Nice piece, Alan, and a terrific prompt for this week.
This a challenge that begged NOT reading other’s poetry before posting my own … looking into the mirror is not easy. Your poetry resonates …
It takes a lifetime to know oneself…well done!
Sometimes we see different people in the mirror, when looking with different state of mind…Cool prompt.
This is great…..that element of wonder gripped my mind ……. who I am….
I love this Alan. It catches many things I’ve felt about mirrors, especially as I age. Your lines “Drawn to the spirit
Hidden treasure within
Divinely entwined
Golden and eternal
The more I see
Time evaporates
Into dust” speak strongly to me as I believe spoirit does outlast time in some way or another. Partidulars don;t matter much to me but the basic concept does.
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A beautiful poem! I often wonder myself, how did this happen? I see my Mom reflected back at me more and more!