When you look upon a calm, clear lake,
Or gaze intently into a mirrored glass,
Or see yourself in a window as you pass,
You see your image, without a mistake.
With exquisite detail, they show your eyes,
Your white teeth as you smile, the tears of your cries,
They will catch your quickest movement, despite all your tries.
Yet all of these in their infinite perfections,
Try as they might, show no pure reflections.
Have you ever felt the pain of a loved one passed?
Or had the girl of your dreams kiss you at last?
Then turned to that mirror which hath so excellently portrayed,
And seen no true emotions displayed?
Have you sat for hours looking at that mirror,
Or quietly stared into the water, perched upon a pier,
Then thought of who you are, what you image makes apparent,
And turned your mind inward, only to find something different?
It’s been said before,
But now I truly implore,
My appearance aside,
“When will my reflection show
Who I am inside?”
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