a broken mirror’s gaze

i am a multitude
that speaks with one voice
broken apart
through lack of choice

the body keeps the score
but the mind holds the key
if emotions are messages
why the fuck do you ignore me?

the face i wear
closely mirrors yours
how else can i survive
when the world itself abhors?

shine light on your shadow
and search your body for truth
why do you keep pretending
the blind can guide the youth?

the mirror is a liar
only one question left to ask
take a breath my child
who doth lie behind the mask?

i used to think i was acting
but now i see the truth
another day wasted
on the folly of youth

a thousand eyes reflected
in a broken mirror’s gaze
take another breath my child
this is all just a phase

there’s no-one left to question
the slow passing of time
because nothing is permanent
‘cept my ink forming rhyme

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This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

To Whom Does The Caterpillar Pray?

To whom does the caterpillar pray?
To one on a higher leaf,
or the one already flying away?

Or perhaps to the part of herself who can only see
the future cave she will create instinctively?

When transformation is forced,
is it blessing or curse?
This tree isn’t the perfect home,
but the sky could be worse.

Once encased,
the caterpillar never crawls again.
Her new beginning is just a forced end.
Flittering away towards a new home,
away from everything she has ever known.
Blinded by the sun and battered by the rain,
forced to fly again and again.

But for what does the butterfly pray?
For a calm night,
or the ending of the day,
or a place upon which to sit down and lay?

Or for the hope of a new tree with new leaves,
offering new flowers and new beliefs?

Or perhaps she just prays for the strength to be brave,
and for her last act to be the finding of the space for her kid’s future cave.

Deep inside she knows she will never be able to see
the butterflies that her kids one day grow up to be,
Nor will her kids ever see the efforts she took
to bring them into the sky safely.

No, they will just be.

Waking upon their leaves,
marvelling at the abundance of their tree.
Wondering what comes after their journey
into the cave they too are creating instinctively.

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This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry