POEM 118: ME

My inward friends abhors me,
My distant lover desires me,
My mirror reflects me,
My biggest fantasy embraces me with loose arms,
But the lightest realizations arrive in restraint—
halting thrice in two steps
approaching farther away.

Unlike the tug at the end of a the line
no one pulls this fine line
but a shadow of me at the other end
pulling desperately like a dying friend
cling to a life line.

I have no word for what is within me,
the seer blind and loud
holding sinking grounds
sinking deeper my deep rooted hurt
and staring at the tunnel end with suspicion.
But not the mutable form behind it could deafen my ears.
Behind it, the line, 
there's hope in his eyes
but the present me
have been fed fat with lies
written on parchments 
torn from ancient scrolls
words encrypted, keys unknown...
He may pull all he can
but I'll not an inch move...
because I must of this reflection write or else...
Or else, why write?
It's just me!

I’m sick of peering at the reflection 
of who I should've been 
before now happened on me.
No, my reflection is tired of peering at me
with teary eyes and a heavy heart.
Who can save me from staling on myself?
Is it he who awakens me into being
or he who stares hard and long but sees nothing still?

He pulls on
I stare on
He tugs
I shrugs
So he goes into the air
leaving me in great despair.
And the seer is mistaken for the seen-
He who stares at his reflection
and tells the world he's seen a vision- 

 - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu