I look into the reflecting glass.
A part of me still sees my past.
Another sees the parts that last.
Some features are familiar, some are not.
Subtitles lines of battles fought.
Choices I made and those I did not.
From the looking glass I can see.
Only what my mind can perceive.
In my own reality.
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Heather Congrove
Well formed poem.
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Thank you!
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You’re welcome
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