The Reflective Line Divides Us

Which side of the mirror is reality, and which side is made of dreams? Which side would you rather be on?

Impassive might of reflective shallowness,

Silver beam straight shot of self-conscoiusness right into our veins,

Smooth slick straight backed frame,

Your appearance is legendary.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

You are impartial to us all,

Everyone may bask upon your surface as you eat our souls,

Flip our features straight back and distort our image, who we appear to be. 

Everyone knows your face,

But what of  the world behind you?

The tension of your surface never bends,

Shattering underneath my pressured question.

Is it a world of white bleached drifts?

Where the icicles grow like weeds on anything that lies still too long,

And the sun is weak and much too small,

And the world is flat so there are no lands of heat.

Are the people there stiff?

Did the cold temperatures freeze them upright since birth,

And were their mouths frozen shut,

And their minds clogged up with smoke from useless fires?

What of the lives they live?

Unmoving and always the same,

Eventually and inescapably due to warp and fade,

Glossed over with a unseeing, brown, vintage sheen?

Have the people their own personal thought?

Do they wonder of world beyond like us,

Or do they move about on skates,

Letting the days slip them by.

Is it really a cold, unmoving, unforgiving place,

Or is that just what they think when they look through you to us?

Is our side the ice field?

The real reflective glass world of never ending snow and the place where freezing machine minds were born.

Alice fell through the looking glass,

Finding a land where imagination thrived,

And where things were not what they were,

So is it odd to say that we are the world of mirrors?

Reflect back to each other and back again,

Never letting one another past our surface,

Deeper where the heart lies,

Our sad little world of pathetic attempts at freedom with the underlying theme of hate, greed, and war.

Take me through the looking glass to lands of Kings and Queens,

Where chess boards lay the land

And imagination dreams.

Our sad, silver, sliver thin world is the one where mirrors were born.

This dying life of living metal is not for me. 

Reviews

[BrynnaW.]

Speechless... I love how you combine other stories and knowledge that we have all heard. Truly, amazing how you write. Good job! And as I almost always say (at least to those who truly are committed to writing) keep writing!