Filtered

Never was I able to become a main character
Relegated to this reoccurring role,
In reflections and glances, did life move forward.
And what is it but a series of recreations
And reifications and unifications
In which her reflections met mine.
Traumatically, the main character emerges
Many summers of dormancy have prepared him for this event.
He feels himself superior.
His floodgates open and such Pompous eruptions emerge.
Reflections which meet reflections
Forever searching in this cave of mirrors
For the real among the real, the ideal from which this beauty seeps, in fractions, trickles and subdued sleep.
Those feeble legs which could not walk Now scatter.
They lunge against some stagnant air
And hurdles blossom from concrete, metal, from floorboards, grass and hardwood too
His role is complete.
The hands are pulling away at the strings,
Those chords are not of just of curtain
Reflections can only offer reflections
A second order, refurbished, well-used
For him There’s room to leap but not to land.
For him there’s room to speak but not to hear.
There’s room to eat but not to chew.
The cast has quite a parade in their absence.
He has no obeisance to the star, no reverence.
She is gone now though.
Once again, he’s appropriated.
The divine logos, has sent its message once again.
Partitions violence shone in red.
The segregation between her cheek and hair.
Upon the stage, dominates, enticing maybe a million stares.
There he goes, the hero now, some man, some time, some condition too.
They turn to me in unison.
I am content, with this fraction.
However
A sliver escapes, before I contain it and yells out; if only I were an answer and not a question
To her reflection, of a reflection.