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Into the deeper blue,
counting back from zero,
ghosts on cold glass and the years collide
against tomorrow.
Who sees me? the leaning wall shadow
impression of
someone - somebody.
Invitations with-held or hidden well.
We break deep - deeper inside.
And now the soft notes forgotten...
just a minor moment
when the boy
in the glass looks back.
The mirror lied it wasn't
The mirror lied
it wasn't me
I have no gray
I am still young
enough to know
the mirror lied.
Your poem is so tone-soft, almost melancholy - enjoyed - allets