In the mirror, my questioning reflection
Looks back into my doubting eyes
Too many questions…. too many answers
How can anyone know what is real?
If I am real?
I have listened to those that know…?
To those also that are supposed to know…
But somehow never do…
Then it is left for us to choose
To pay bills or buy food?
Or welcome our sons and daughters back from war…
Sometimes broken… sometimes more..?
The mirror once reflected only the truth
“What you saw was what you got”
But that naive age has matured into uncertainty…
Unsure of who we are or what we are becoming?
Now undecided on what is good and bad?
Is all this real… or am I mad?
I see my reflection asking of me clarity
Wondering why my old eyes have not yet figured it out?
Why my brain can see so clearly what is needed
What I need to understand the confusion that I see
The confusion that is me…?
