The Looking Glass

You are quite correct in what you say, or so it

seems to me. Just a matter of which side of the

looking glass you happen to be. You see me as

one thing, and perhaps that is true; I another,

a slightly different view.

It doesn't matter really; it does not seem to

matter at all. Both sides are flawed, not quite

suited to one's taste, to one's expectations.

And I, well, I am caught somewhere in between.

Don't really know just what and who I am, or

was, or for that matter, want to be.

No need to "wallow" in the past, at least I try to

avoid that fatal snare; as for the future, perhaps

time will get me there. The present; well,

that's difficult to say, depending upon the

weather and time of day; depending on how I

feel, what I remember, which things I grasp,

and how far I care to reach.

Could be, I was never here at all; perhaps a

Crown Prince gone to the Ball; just as likely,

a madman feeding pigeons in the park, after the

fallen snow; (they have to eat as well, you

know). Someone, anyone, must take the time to

spread the seeds, throw them food, so they

might feed when it is cold.

So view me as you will; poet, prince, madman.

Almost anyone. The looking glass reflects everything,

but only the man without; never the one within.

Tris within