Monday, August 14, 2006

A love letter to Myself

Caravaggio's Narcissus

And in these eyes, lo!
Lie a heaven another cannot see,
And in these eyes: the friend and the foe
And everything that is me.

In the morning before coffee and labours,
A second of silent introspection,
To ascertain my home from my neighbours,
And get the daily ration of direction.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Perhaps you are more of a door,
Taking me to places where I hear a call,
And where the throats not so sore.

And love is a funny thing,
For it comes and goes,
But the one before me is not just a fling,
And all the rose in prose.

Numb is what they say I am,
But they are always saying stuff,
The pleasures of this failing exam,
Are something never enough.

Age is but a page to be turned,
And life but only a stage
If you can walk the end and be returned,
Then am I not the better sage?

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