Mirror Of Reality

Mirror Of Reality

The morning sun streaks yellow, orange, pink, blue and grey
horizontal layers upon a palatial pallet
hiding behind inevitable thoughts
of life, love and death in my cross to bear.

Swollen eyes conjure fleeting memories of children
singing and dancing in warm waters
building sandcastles they think will live forever
washed into the ocean by incessant tides of time.

I want to sleep it off,
this hellish hangover the morning after,
praying that perhaps it is a drug-induced lie,
fueled by slight insanity of bleeding mirror of reality.

Even in this beautiful world in which I now wander,
I am one step from tumbling into crevices of guilt and grief,
that swallow my heart and burn my soul,
leaving no escape from this well-worn path.

Dennis Wayne Bressack
Woodstock, New York
December 24, 2017