All the world’s a stage, so looking through the actor’s mirror at burning love

All the World's a Stage - Shakespeare -

The Actor’s Mirror

My shaking hands reach for the quiet makeup jar,
unsure of the task for another night’s delight.
Sighing with despair, I make ready for the sight
of looking at the memories of a loss I cannot fight.
My heart screams, “Unfair! You know where we should be!”
Where does my life take flight when I chase away my dears?

My hands dig and claw at that all too familiar ooze.
How can I paint my face when my hands will not comply?
Tears of acid pool as I struggle with my thoughts.
How can I take the stage when I cannot paint her face?
“The show must go on!” and I look upon my image.
Just a touch of makeup and the dark will turn to joy.

How many times, I wonder, have I looked at this same face?
I chose this mirror on purpose. It reflects the view I need.
What if the mirror’s image were multiplied by ten or more?
My image would be hideous. You couldn’t hide the glaring flaws.
And if the mirror were small, then I would never see it all.
My life slowed and stopped as a thought came sailing in.

Tons and tons of times, my brush has moved across her face.
Her painting never changed, but her countenance was new.
At times I saw her happy and other days she was depressed.
I asked about her mood, but she said it never changed.
How can her painting and her mood always be the same,
but what I see in front of me is never quite the same?

Then the answer came to me, I couldn’t hide its truth.
I always glance and always gaze at everything through my mirror
and what I see in front of me is changed by how I feel.
If I am angry and she is not then anger is what I see.
And if I’m sad and oh so blue, then all of the world’s against me.
But if I’m happy and content, my image becomes clearer.

The final words she said to me are etched upon my heart.
The words made muster unwillingly and formed upon my mirror.
What I saw in front of me, “You are the enemy.”

The words she spoke were loud and clear, she wanted fights and war and pain.

But my image was tainted with anger, and those were not her thoughts.
Her thoughts were filled with contentment, “your words were filled with lust!”

“You are the enemy” to her meant please battle me in bed.
She was being cute and fun. She was playing around.
“How could I have been so stupid to misunderstand you so badly?”

The sweetest voice I ever heard spoke to me from the door.
“It took so long for you learn about our burning love.
Let us always be open and true with what our mirrors say.”


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