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
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.
- My Muse-My Shadow - June 15, 2019
- Lit Up Skies - April 4, 2019
- Fair Thee Well - April 3, 2019
A dark but poignant write Vincent: some wonderful phrasing to impart the deeply felt woes of life in clarity. Wonderful work dear poet. Kudos
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.
Face those demons with aplomb and watch them slink away. Well penned piece, Vincent – dark and emotive.
Thank you Phyllis, I will consider your advice, yet I doubt they will ever depart from my soul. Cheers.
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.
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.