Covering Mirrors

We are sick to death.
To death,
And breathless.
Holding in our hearts.
Guarded,
Like a lion and her prey.
Unable To let each other in.

We stretch miles
From inches of indifference.
Blind  ourselves
And sear our conscience
With red hot
Apathy coals.
Leaving holes in our soul.
Filling the void
With distractions.

Maybe this
Is why we’ve covered
Every mirror in our homes
With digitally enhanced photos,
Portraying ourselves in perfect light,
So we might
Never see
The ugly we’ve become.
Or,
Are becoming.

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About Z.

Poetic pipe and cigar enthusiast rifling through the haunted memories of a not so distant past while openly wrestling with faith and God. A rambling writer with the misguided notion that he has something to say. His only redeeming qualities are his wife and children.
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