These mirrors we hide behind,
Reflecting back to you, and you, and you
all that you wish to see, to feel
through the reflection of your own mirror
And behind my mirror
with my quiet, screaming agony of truth –
Faces, carefully arranged to conceal
Like the beautiful floral arrangement that hides the truth of Aunt Bettie’s
red wine stain on the antique lace tablecloth.
Remember, it was that Thanksgiving Uncle Mort had the affair with the stock boy –
They are so very versatile – our faces.
We are safe behind them – we imagine.
Our fortress from the world
so we don’t have to show the truth – or to see it….
So we imagine.
But we know – deep – this is an illusion –
What a nightmare if all our faces were suddenly gone
and there was nothing left to see, to feel
but the Truth?
As surely as staring at the sun can blind
the brilliance of our Truth – to the uninitiated – may kill.
(Raiana Golden – 2011 – all rights reserved)