Memoir of Mirrors It is a wayward silence, that never sleeps, and in the moment where the breath of life gives notice to the beat of earth’s heart, is when we dance and sing. It’s the time sight is no longer an overage, but a managed balance of beauty and skill. Where the ease of each verse catches a single phrase by the throat, brings you down on one knee, and asks for a hand. There is a singleness of purpose – significance. Where the ash meets a rose, where they bud and bloom together. Not for a forever proclamation, not for instinctual breeding or grievance stricken pain, but for the grace from which I have fallen. How many times has the dirt which chokes the stem bared its soul to show the world a magnificent presence? And to catch a glimpse, we obscure the pure radiance of the sun. One hand is holding you up and the other pulling you down; saying prayers and breaking vows, so who, who is the wayward silence now? A child lost its way, and the only thing that can be done is to wipe the tears away. One by one, two by two, the child is crying because we don’t see their view; sent out into the world with a lack of trust and courage, and made over one hundred times into things expected of them. We declare creation and recovery to slow down this day, life is going to get a little ugly, precocious child’s play. Trying to see the forest for the trees, and these eyes the Lord gave to me. Still as inordinate as a human can be, and to say “I am trying, I am trying, I am trying”, means carelessly I have given up on living. To all those who can hear me, to give proper perspective; and wave goodbye to the wayward silence without turning my head and looking back, I must trudge forward. I must take each experience and secure them together to make a life worth living. To follow each dream, as if it were a shooting star, and let the nimble lead me home. Home is where my heart is and my heart beats inside my chest. The day it stops to rest, I want be able to say I didn’t try I did my best. Through sunspecs of grey and each month of May which passes, I put on a new pair of glasses. The world seems brighter than before, I love myself a little bit more; and if I leave this place, will it leave with me? Will I take away memories and new building blocks? Will I build a foundation upon the next bedrock of my life? This is not a Flintstone fairy tale, and mother may I play my piano with the man who taught me scales? My ABC’s, I count to three, and even better; I will count the trees in the forest. My mind is less fettered by the insane and I am moving toward contentment inside. So, if I look in the mirror what feelings will that bring? Camera 1 and Camera 2, will it be all I have been searching for, is it now you? I understand, you’ve been here this whole time, but I could not see you through preceding detached eyes. The view of myself askew, I could not see the beauty of you being you, which is me… I let the judgment of others tear me down, and most of all the judgment of myself. I am my own worst critic, and my reflection has turned on me and said, “We have to be realistic”. You have been made in the most perfect image and likeness, of the most perfect conception ever created. Trying to obtain blood from prejudice’s rock, stepping on the toes of others instead of walking on your own two feet, flat on the ground, and head held high. You are no longer in need to lose your piece of mind, so in this reflection is born a new inception of thought. Do not try; live…when you live do not forget to give, to others and to yourself. Find a balance of laughter and tears, laughter cures your tears, and tears cure your fears. Love when you want to hate and hug when you want to be angry, reach out and touch someone and let them know how special they are even when you don’t want to, because that moment may be the last you ever see them. Most importantly remember to give to yourself as much as you give to others, because without you first, there are no others. To the lecturer of this phase; the inside me who breeds child’s play, to the others in there who always have something to say, there’s a new way. I fell insensible at the wheel of my fancy life, and in hind sight I was never awake. Looking in the rear view, not easy, but not as difficult as it used to be. The argument of who’s looking back stands clear. Time is no longer chasing its tail, and in each moment it is my keeper. Now, I believe in the sunrise and fall, and even though I stand at 5’0ft tall, I believe the bigger you are the harder you fall. I believe in screaming loud when I can’t hear myself think. This is when I’m trying to scare everyone into sink, and they do not always listen. The world rest in a peace of me, with blanket eyes and not good at goodbyes. Pretending what lies beneath could be better, if the world had a thicker sweater to keep the cold hearts of so many from inheriting what doesn’t belong to them. My lover in solace, my keeper, and my friend, the silence; who’s who and what’s what? Play, and grow, that by chance we may become whole, not separate lights waiting for the power to go out. There’s no need to shout, by just being here for ourselves there is a selfish justification for the verve of sleep that will come when this is all over. A dispel of sleep that speaks with purpose of a mutual exchange, and never wonders why things stay the same. Could it be I have laid to rest all that is evil, and the honorable rest in my sub-conscious? If I make an attempt to recover all which is left of every piece of my soul, can I be who I am with not one judgment? I will make do with the empty promises and paint them in the sky like stars. I will count these stars like mild mannered sheep when I can’t sleep, and make love with my broken scars. Counting blessings with treble and bass clef bars, and each note is a memory filled with a love story to tell. Will I tell my story with a major or minor key? Tones in my voice will speak fair-weathered; I will brace myself, but never thought of me as being too clever. Between you and me, the more silent you cry, the easier it is for me to lay down and die. I do not have to attempt to figure out the missing pieces, because they are just gone. The pieces are distant thrills which shaped the illusion maybe one day the bottom of the barrel would be acceptable, deflectable, and even retractable. We can play the right and wrong hands, but never forget the cards dealt. Intuitively we collect stars and wait for the right planet to arrive; and as the moon circles the sun, we circle ourselves deliberately. I’m starting to realize it’s never done. I’ve been told, “It’s time to cast light into the dark shadows of your heart”. To light the world with decency, then only joy can smile and sing. I praise the path I have been led toward. I give thanks for each moment and all the strength it gives me to move on; because nothing is for free, and nothing is less than me. Nothing can be the most life has to offer at a specific time, and bring more gifts to light than any other way. So I ask, can we just stare at each other for a while? I feel like we met in a past life. Is it me or do we look exactly alike? I want to turn and run, but I must admit; nothing seems so inviting, and I am a bit excited to see what comes next. How many are you? And how long have been driving for? You’ve been looking through my eyes all these years? The lawless child, you could see me, but I could not see you. Even if I knew would it have made a difference? I admit, in some ways I feel cheated, and at the same time I am happy to meet you, so all of you please be-seated.