Empty Mirrors

I’ve damned myself
with dreams of you;
tortured by our memories,
haunted by our words
of care, concern and passion.

I am plain in my meaning,
simple by original design,
a mosaic pieced back together
after the bumps and breaks of time,
set upon a mantel for display alone.

What good is a mirror
to a man who has left it behind
or to a woman who sees through inner eyes?
What point is reflection
without a subject to define?

We are each other’s mirrors
as seen in duality
but when we have parted ways,
lost to each other via responsibility,
we are but empty mirrors.