On the mirror,
he now turns his back,
stumbling on his way,
a far cry from the heady times;
the smiles of yesterday.

The tumbler in his hand
now holds a halo of revolt,
the stain and stagnant smell
of yet another single malt.

Glancing o’er his shoulder
at the man within the frame,
his bane; his timeless nemesis
who mocks him with his shame.

In a moment of pure rage
he turns and throws the empty glass,
the mirror explodes,
a shameful shower
of hate and bile, en-masse.

A million mournful memories
of a lifetime built on lies,
the torn and shattered remains
of a face he now defies.

Collapsing to the carpet,
head bowed low within his hands,
a silent cry now claws the hearts
of those who understand.

Yet still his mind is tempted
by just one more final look,
at the shards of glass
now lying shattered,
forlorn and so forsook.

But the pit of his stomach
turns cold with such a dark
and fearsome fright,
at the vista lying before him;
a haunting, sadistic sight.

Each shard of glass,
now a life of it’s own,
there’s a realisation
and woeful moan.

So many mocking faces
staring up and out at him,
taunting him and teasing,
with malevolent little grins.

Broken far beyond all hope,
to the corner of the room
he crawls
and in foetal position,
like a child bereft,
to his soul he openly bawls!

Written by Darren Scanlon, 20th March 2016.
© 2016 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.


June 16, 2016

Páginas Amarillas

June 16, 2016

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