House of Mirrors

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    House of Mirrors
    Sharp, jagged corners.

    The silver sheen of imperfection.

    Outstretched arms of shards.

    The fractures of an image.

    Frozen in the corner.

    Lost in the icy smoke.

    Surrounded by critical amber.

    A multitude of the same soul,

    imprisoned in this house of mirrors.



    By: Roy Quebedeaux

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    jam4muzic commented on House of Mirrors

    08-09-2009

    Hm...I like it, I really do. It's just lines and lines of descriptions. A painting with words and small details with adjectives. Really good. Really is. Do you mind chekcing out my poems? I'd like to know other's opinions...
    Reply to Comment

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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