Reflection Poem by Alexander Downie

What do we see when we look at ourselves, he asked?
I stared at the oils and thought of a child's photograph.
How far do I hold the mask of memory from my face,
would the child like the man he has chosen to become?

Do others care to look behind the mask for what is real,
can I ever let this morbid mask slip and trample it to dust?
The child stares, burning wrinkles with a contemptuous gaze.
What do I see when I look at myself, I ask