It Was Only Ever a Glimpse
A glimpse at the mirror shows clearly
My blurry reflection.
Too many lessons have been tearing
At these senses.
The phase of glorified flesh ended,
Yet I never knew when it commenced,
Or where it headed.
It's grown nearly impossible to see the eyes.
I've always had trouble establishing “me.”
Lo and behold, what a surprise
That I've continued disfiguring.
Tormented and rejected by the lust of dreams,
My hate has drawn to sleep.
Who wants to awaken smothering
An impossible fantasy?
A clock keeps ticking,
And with this hangs fate.
They make it sound endearing,
But it's hard accepting you'll be late.
Suppose it fair to say
How confused I remained,
But at my dying day,
I was a different being.
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Comments about this poem (It Was Only Ever a Glimpse by Edwin Cordero )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(22 March 1941 -)
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