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The tiger-eyes take their turn;
they chill me to the bone.
He is a grey morning,
unexpected until I saw.
His body became a hollow,
the leaves taken down past autumn.
Begging to be filled, my ideas
became him.
It was a mistake.
For we soon learn the secrets
of the world.
We think we understand,
but in truth understanding has never seen our faces.
All that we can see in the reflecting pool is ourself.
So we melt,
water,
drip.
until the faces blend, colors lost,
and we all become one.
©2009 ~toppie-sfb
:icontoppie-sfb:

Author's Comments

This poem is about this guy... and how you can think that you know a person, but you never really do. It's not about how everyone is a mystery, but about how everyone has their own individual views of a person, a reflection of themselves and who they want that person to be.

But rarely anyone lets that person be who they truly are, or who they want to be. "All we can see in the reflecting pool is ourselves."

I barley know this guy, but I feel like a know him like the back of my hand. Because he became a reflection of my thoughts. I know not to do this, I know it is dangerous. But I did it anyway. And I wrote this poem about it. Anyway.

:heart: Toppie

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May 25
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