That long, torturous gaze
The beholding of our defects and dissatisfaction
An opinion-skewed labyrinth of distorted reflections
Haunted corridors of the damned.
To be awakened by the mercy of a small voice
A child’s hand
An invitation to play
We are asked to pretend
To become a fire fighter
By imagination and kinship, we journey back
To a real world
The present moment
The person who matters.
In the mystery of sacred playtime
Our soul returns to us
Our sanity arriving like a cherished friend.
As we turn away from the mirror
A new kind of good-looking
Lights our face
And offers its gift
To a far more appreciative audience