Devil May Care? I Don't.

Ulterior motives of the mind,
to give in, to consider it
all wrong. But really
the mirror reflects
same, though
broken and
destroyed.

The shards themselves
jigsaw together to form
a story so perfect, you
can wait. Giving in, is
no longer possible, believing
in impossible is not such a
lie.

Because all in all,
all things can
be repaired.

And the room
mirrors laugh
at my choice.

I don't care.

Because it's all a maze
to trick to fool. But my
heart knows without
a doubt.

Call me out with the
clowns, who scream
'You're insane' I'll
just reply.

"For a true friend you go
through hell, for the one you
love you stay in hell."

*****

The quote in the end, I made up .

Hi.

Vernon wrote:The shards themselves
jigsaw together to form
a story so perfect, you
can wait. Giving in, is
no longer possible, believing
in impossible is not such a
lie.

Very nice.

Vernon wrote:And the room
mirrors laugh
at my choice.

I believe you mean "the room's mirrors".


It was an interesting and, for lack of better words, unique poem. There are a lot of places that I thought awkward phrasing worked. But it was not what I expected from the title. Perhaps it should have something to do with mirrors and how you stand out from the reflections, something with a deeper meaning like that.

McMourning

Wow. This poem was totally unexpected - I was anticipating something a little different from the title! Maybe you should change it, as McMourning said?

All in all, I think the awkward phrasing was good, and I enjoyed the poem in general. I really liked the style - it's so unique!

Keep writing,

Pgsgirl x

The mirror reflects more mirrors. You put them together wrong and show enough people and they will say "Hey, yeah, I can swing that."

I don't get the relationship of the mirrors with the quote at the end. Maybe cut down on the ambiguities, without sacrificing the poetry. You could also explain it to me, but that would augment the poem. A poem should be able to explain itself. Sorry I didn't get this one.

"...the friends that love you back will come stay in hell with you."

what strange little gadget of a poem we have here.
rotating mirrors set on gears and broken by an alarm clock mallet.
*ring ring* wake up! this poem says.
wake up and smell the rusted cogs.

in pandemonium the only constant is your friendship.
this poems like a math problem, though some of the procedures are a bit off.

oh well, I like it enough as it is...*tick tock tick tock*