When I look at the mirror, I look at myself and sigh.
When I glance at my foolish choices, and then I wonder why.
Ubiquitous my presence I knowingly sense.
However its pristine unchallenged truth is just a pretense.
Reflections of myself are warped and twisted with lies.
Not even finding requisite pools of honestly oft' hidden in the eyes.
My work and hobbies fail to represent what the mirror lacks.
And my self image is based on inflated imaginations rather than the facts.
Careful patterns hide the truth behind the mask.
But iron wrought lies answer those who ask.
Where can I see myself clearly, in this deep and dark world?
Where else but the banks of the shore, with our fingers interlocked and minds intertwirled?
- Jonathan
