Hall of Mirrors

Bruce Majors

Hall of Mirrors

There is no pain, you are receding
a distant ship, smoke on the horizon
Pink Floyd

Walking down the narrow hall, mirrors set
so that it is possible to walk into eternity,
getting smaller and smaller till I do not exist.
The char of burnt-out days, compel me to
this life-maze, uncertain how it ends.

In side mirrors, odd shapes make grotesque
images, how we actually appear without
covers of falseness. Nothing looks the same.
I harbor the thought that none of this is real,
that I am only a dream of some sleeper’s
indulgence, a germ of sleep’s theater.

Attempting to cast my fear aside, I scream
I am alive. The long echo resounds through
mirrors with no answers. No one is there.
I hold my place, footing unsure. A small tapping
at first, rises to a deafening crash, then
the calamity of shattering complexity.

Sleepers awaken, unaware
of night’s passing muse. I lie eternally broken
in a thousand shards of glass, my dream
of life ending.

_______________

Bruce Majors has published poems in Pirene’s Fountain, Ontologica, Wordgathering, Arts and Letters, Pinesong, The Distillery, River Poets Journal, Number One, and other literary journals. His collection, The Fields of Owl Roost, was named finalist in the 2005 Indie Excellence Book Awards. The chapbook Small Patches of Light was published in September 2013 by Finishing Line Press. Majors co-edited the anthology, Southern Light: Twelve Contemporary Southern Poets, which included such poets as Robert Morgan, Dan Powers, and Bill Brown. Mr. Majors is a member of the Chattanooga and Knoxville Writers’ Guilds.

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