Reflection of Myself

Reflection of Myself …

Reflection of Myself


Is only a reflection of myself and my

stubborn pride that looks back at me

from the ornately framed mirror in

my dimly lit room with bitter discord

and resentment for the shallowness

of my life and who I was to become?


Like an hour-glass placed before me

they watched my life slowly take a shape

of sadness and lonely days and nights

resigned to play a fool in this masquerade

as time slipped so slowly away and anger

quickly turned to madness while  demons

rejoice and fight to have my soul to

call their own.


By night they stalk my dreams and take

control as if they have the right to be there

and open up past wounds that haunt me

for they know the maggots were alive and

fed from my tender youth like charred

ashes from the scattered souls beneath

my bruised and battered life.


I fought them off the demons that

persisted in taking possession of my

sanity by pushing me to the edge of

madness each time with tongues so

jagged and long they entered to bring

me to their bosoms of filth that they

buried within their blackness

buried there.


So many times my values were challenged

by mother of mercy who lifted me up on

wings of glory each time I fell to the depths

of despair and shadowed by the darkness

that persisted in my life until I could bear

no more hurt and mistrust they took control

of my life and led me away from the evil in

the house that possessed my soul.


Out of the depths of sorrow I screamed

to give me peace and let me live a life of

servitude to him who would set me free

to be a man of character and resiliency

for mother to see the boy who fought to

save her from her own demons of abuse

and alcohol and men of mindless hate

for woman who they trampled underfoot

and fist and brutal beaten to submission.


Mother was the one who paid the greatest

price for being kind and gentle to these

men and had to favor them in submission

to protect her children from their will who

only caused us fear and many tears.


Fear thee not gentle mothers and daughters

who never deserved the wrath of men forsaken

though they were they lived and fought like

valiant tortured souls who were never given

in to die for being kind instead they showed

the love that only comes from women with

protective hearts in turmoil and fought these

demons off the best they could to keep their

children clean and pure.


This mirror haunts me still today

and casts an image of a man who lived with

anger of losing to those demons while

protecting his mother from being taken

from him by the darkest side of fear.


Copyright Vincent Moore. All Rights Reserved

Vincent Moore
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Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more. He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published. In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.

6 thoughts on “Reflection of Myself

  • August 31, 2018 at 11:25 PM

    A dark but poignant write Vincent: some wonderful phrasing to impart the deeply felt woes of life in clarity. Wonderful work dear poet. Kudos

    • September 1, 2018 at 5:57 PM

      Thank you Tony, there are times when I pen, like you, I read again in the morning light and wonder where did this come from, this is one of those times. Sometimes I get lost in myself with the help of my Muse and this is what comes forth. I’m happy you liked it my friend, appreciate your kind words always.

  • September 1, 2018 at 12:34 AM

    Face those demons with aplomb and watch them slink away. Well penned piece, Vincent – dark and emotive.

    • September 1, 2018 at 5:58 PM

      Thank you Phyllis, I will consider your advice, yet I doubt they will ever depart from my soul. Cheers.

  • September 1, 2018 at 5:25 PM

    Vincent you are the master. There will come a day when you words will be spoken with the other masters that have taken quill or pen in hand long before you and I ever walked this earth. Awesome piece with a dark side. I loved it.

    • September 1, 2018 at 6:02 PM

      Kurt my kind friend, I humbly accept with dignity your kind words. A master? I doubt. However I continue to pen until my last breath, thankfully I’ve been blessed to have produced 3 small books of some of my work, a legacy to my estranged family, they will hopefully find a way of forgiveness as I reach out to them in my words. Maybe finally they will understand a misunderstood father, I pray they do. For the rest of the world, my work like many I’m sure will be lost in time, only the grandest masters are recognized, I doubt I will be one of them my friend, but I appreciate your support dear writer. Peace and blessings I send to you this eve.


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