Perhaps we are our own mirror
and only disown them to glass for an ideal.
Then, we remain several steps behind
the formation of our dreamed imperatives,
a purposeful mist that drifts along the contours
of starry-eyed simplicity.
Deep understanding of the world
(the intricate chemistry of tumult and silence,
ruminations given in error, earned in humility,
dispersed into nurture, joy, and grief)
is the hard casing of our reflections.
Why can we never move closer–
only evolve within our own vision or
along the surface of others’ fragile esteem?
Belief must suffice, whether
god or void,
nuance or instinct,
spare islet or mountainous sway.
We will inhabit these fictions
as flame makes the darkness
a mere memory,
and behold what cannot be real
Copyright 2014 by Michael Marsters.
All rights reserved.