The Other Half

The face smiled as the faint shimmers in the mirror
     raced past the corner of your eyes.

It seemed to stare deep into your soul,
consuming you with interminable memories
you wish would’ve been erased.

You looked at it again, but you do not smile back.

It smiles back at you.

For in this reflection, we are reminded once more
of the crimes we have committed against our fates—
or to a lesser intensity, the lack of jubilation
that we write on the pages of our days.

Like ink dissolved on burnt pages.
Like tales absolved through branded ages.
Like distorted euphonies entwined with the whispers
     that reside within the rage of what you could forgive,
     but choose not to.

Is there anything more meaningful than the other half
you’ve learned to despise?

You ask.

The blessing remains unsung in the symphonies of sinners that
     raced past the corners of your lies.