She is not embedded in this room, but she still lives here <br />Her reflections gathering back upon the wood like happy birds, <br />Flocking to a bird meeting in some tree; and though no tales are told <br />Histories are entrenched in scars and tack holes, <br />A strange dullness upon the painted wall, here and there <br />That to others could mean nothing at all- and yet they possess weight <br />And substance, a dimensionality in the memories they give birth to. <br /> <br />We are all darkness and light, intermixed <br />Shaken into days of metered sun and random shade; <br />Stirred up- until the bubbles rise, now newly born- <br />That our own selves made. <br /> <br />Books can define even a person who seems invisible within themselves, <br />And papers and journals reveal quirks of handwriting and thought process; <br />And though the small child itself is no longer represented here <br />With toys and artifacts; yet the child's ghost lingers here, most of all, <br />Whiling away a never-ending childhood's grace, in the strange way <br />Of all humans, to never really grow up, but only to enclose their youth <br />With adult sentiments and cares, perhaps never noticing how the eyes <br />May still sometimes look upon the world with the purity of innocence- <br />Only within the nest, that room once was. <br /> <br />We are all mirrors, shining our selves <br />Onto the mirrors of others; and when we reflect <br />It casts a new light never seen, <br />On what we were- and are to be.<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/darkness-and-light-seen-through-the-mirror-of-being/
