My Morning Mirror
May I awaken to the light of
my own true nature.
- - - -From a Buddhist Prayer
Looking through the image
before me in my morning mirror,
in a moment's transcendent concentration,
was a stranger staring back at me.
It was an aged face I saw
of steadfast, peering eyes,
a dour page of withered text
composed by time's darker inks.
What lingering memory in morning's mist,
carved those deepened lines,
of loss and choices with no remaking,
etched that face before my mirror dark?
Like an ancient tome to its shelf consigned,
long bound by fore edge clasp and chain,
unlike its words, by their thoughts endowed
set free to drift from page to page.
They're not mine those eyes I see,
but still a child's like mine.
There my mind resides, ageless, roaming rooms
where hope and dreams and fears abide.
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Comments about this poem (My Morning Mirror by Peter Olevnik )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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