Back to Bedlam

it’s what I watch and if you see
that’s what becomes of being me.
The mirror through which
no light can pass
made of glass?
made of stone?
makes no difference to
flesh and bone.
I hesitate to circulate
to circumvent some
ill intent
I remain
yours faithfully,
letters written
never sent
more light bent
around the glass
pent up
sent up river
back downstream
life is mirrored in
this nightmare which
is but a dream,
do I seem well adjusted?
It’s what I watch
and what you see
what I write
will mirror

© 2017, John Smallshaw.