Mirrors - a poem

A captured spirit
A hurried date
A flick of hair
And fashionably late

A fateful appointment with
Inner reflection
Melting despair
At marching complexion

Anticipation
A night on the town
The fancy dress
Of a tired clown

A passing glance
An absolute must
Reassuring but.
A nightmare to dust

So real. So false.
A factitious dream
A perfect reflection
Of the person we seem.

A spectator sport.
A body report.
That brings a private whine
At inscribed time.

Instant truth.
With ruthless delivery
A tyrant, a bully
A brutal facsimile

A sycophantic playmate
A comrade in arms
Or judge. Or tormentor.
Thief of your charms.

Time stands still
And the illusion’s complete
The ludicrous present
With the future to meet.

You stare down the now
And let it infect
And inform the future
As it warns of the next.

But that’s not what defines us
It’s not how we appear.
It’s a trick
A footnote.
A lie.
Not real.

Because believing is seeing
And not vice-versa.
So there in the glass
Is a better person.

It’s a mirror of mind
So come back from the brink
It awaits your instruction
Just have a think.

It’s in service to please
Obliged to announce.
It’s not an expressway
For ghosts to pounce

Brainwaves trump photons.
Like rock over scissors
So click the chamber
You’ll have more hits than misses.

Strike a pose. Freeze!
And try not to yelp.
Smile at Mr Reflection
He’s just trying to help

He’s the truth at your mercy
A slave to your best
So give him a wink
And push out your chest.