In the Mirror

In keeping with National Poetry Month (late arrival!) welcome to a new poem. This comes from a story I told my therapist today. Enough said? Just so you know, I Am Alive and always will be! I have recovered. But this is one reason I love to write, it seems I always come out with something healing. Although there’s no redemption at the end, I do have several “spiritual redemption” poems. But, some stories need to just be as they are, or just as they were. As R.H. Blum says in The Book of Runes, “Sometimes there’s just enough light in the room to see the patient on the operating table is you.”

In the Mirror

I see faces in the clouds
I see faces in the trees
I see faces in the mirror
faces who are not me

Patti showed her face to me
like extra blush where it shouldn’t be
she drew me in, and captured me
with a sadness that begged
for tears to cry, for lost life to be.

It’s not often that I rhyme;
I won’t say I do it well
but maybe it’s because I cannot speak
directly of something so unique
so close to my personal hell

It feels strange to the tongue
it prickles the ear
to hear her voice inside my mouth
to feel so old when still so young
to lose my soul to fear

my life, no longer mine
as I took her in, like pill to pain
as I called myself her given name
I could not sleep, nor eat, nor love
and knew no longer who I was

I live inside the mirror now
I live inside the entity
the woman who once had lived a life
so young, so free; how alive she was,
when she was still dear Patti

So now when you see yourself
in the mirror, safe and free
remember, I am here, yet nowhere
I am not Patti, yet no longer me;
not even a memory.

So beware, my darlings, stay safe
and free
and should you find there’s
a mournful voice
or a face behind what you see

take care of yourself, let it go, let it be
and do not follow me. 

Lady Diane Randall

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