Mirror, Mirror

(Originally called Look in the mirror during drafting)

I look in the mirror and see
every discomfort and lack of confidence
in self-identity I’ve ever seen from me
in a simile of a skin that looks, but isn’t, mine.

I never trust reflective surfaces; they never
tell you what you want to see, nor
what’s going on in the depths of yourself; simply
a reflection as seen through others’ eyes.

Short of independent though, this reflective me
is everything I don’t see myself to be;
every insecurity and self-doubt others cast on me,
I see in this mirror-me that moves similarly.

I want to shatter the glass, but this is costly
and does little to bolster my self-identity.
Mirror-mirror on the wall, least fairest of them all,
who is the most self-strugglesome of them all?


100th Post! – Home

They say home is where the heart is,
that longing point in the distant horizon,
which anchors and reminds you of your roots
so that you’ll return with fondness in mind.
But some only see home as a prison,
a cage of time as they slowly wither and die,
the sedentary lie of the wonders of solitary life,
as the true wonders of life constantly slip by.

Home is where the heart is, for hearts full of life,
for others, a place to forget, and to firmly replace.
To each their own vision of a hearty home;
one of the past, or one propelling to plan ahead.
What is a home? Is it a town or city?
An urban mansion or a castle in the country?
How do we know whether this is a home for our roots?
It’s all in how you view the health of your heart.

Cœur d’un Poète’s Update

Hi everyone! Happy Canada Day to my Canadian readers, and Happy Independence Day to our American friends!

After over a month’s hiatus, I’ve returned. Things have been getting busier for me over the course of the last month, which is why I haven’t posted in a while. I’m doing what I can to try and post new original content on a weekly basis, but that might be a challenge.

Let me know what you want to see on the blog. Please feel free to send me a suggestion for a poem theme, or tell me if you’d like to see some other creative genre. Either way, I’ll see what I can come up with.




There is a little bit of God in every human.

This, we need to believe in order to thrive.

Some may rather find God in scripture

or meet Him in the world after they die.

I’d like to think that we’ve already found him

in the souls come and gone in our lives.

Whether these souls are wrong or right,

we each have a part of God in our hearts.

All of us have the same capacity for good

and to better ourselves and others.

If there is anything we should take literally,

it’s to be a torchbearer in our own lives.

We’re also to light the candle of others in the dark

so that no part of God in us all is left behind.

Who will be the torchbearer, the teacher

who will bring us together, like the prophets of old?

God is in each of us us, and we are of Him,

so does it not make sense to be united all as one?

War of the Wrong

Humans are so convinced of their absolute truth
that they cannot stand when they learn they are wrong.
Whenever your egos are involved in a war of words,
none of us remain that have not been dehumanized.
Policies and politics are reflections of the public battleground,
political elites a mirror image of plebeian folk behaviour.
To say the people are tired of elitist political actions
is to forget the people’s responsibility in politics out of their reach.

In these wars of words where everyone thinks the other is wrong,
the people themselves never hold their own paths accountable.
Weakened is a public forum where the people vote without involvement,
constantly negative, but content without change in their comfortable chairs.
The people are quick to blame power, but loathe to blame themselves;
full speed to blame the media which they alone constantly shape.
Of all the institutions kept in honesty, the people have no accountability
and are free to reign over a world they’ve often driven to ruin.

People want change but are loathe to implement it themselves;
they are quick to blame others but resistant on their own faults.
The people want ultimate freedom, but forget it comes as a cost,
they need a dose of reality, and loads of responsibility.
The people are the battleground of partisan bickering
that has not managed to miss infecting all in reach.
When understanding and comprehending are said signs of weakening,
the war will be endless, unencumbered, and unrelenting.

If the institution of the people is corrupted by a war of who’s wrong,
then all of our systems easily fail along.
People rush to fault others and have no heart for redemption,
so divided they fall, into the follies of ruin.
A house is structurally strong if its foundation is sound,
but the cracks in ours have formed; the home collapses.
All of the people should be accountable for their political messes
through this war of wrongs where none can be right.


Two people of egos full

lock horns in a warring state,

not one of arms or words,

but one of staunch ideas.

One seeks outside counsel

to break the unbreakable impasse.

But when it is finally broken,

Neither side will have truely won.

Impasses are the bane of understanding;

shattering all realms of comprehending.

When conviction alone feeds the soul,

No cohesion can unmake rights and wrongs.

Perception is tainted by confrontation;

every side is the other’s villain.

If neither group’s heroes can compromise,

than the war is lost by villains on both sides.

Echo over Voice

Echoes are always subservient to their voices,
ever so held to the background of transmission.
Sound reverberates to the effect of repetition,
transmitted over distance as enduring noise.
The echo is slave to the voice’ choice of words
and transmits the message through the darkness.
No one knows a message that cannot be heard,
so the echo will remain forever faceless.

But the echo can change the message over time,
shrouding the face of the voice in doubt and vulnerability.
Suddenly, the meaning sings different chimes,
putting in doubt all the voice’s credibility.
From the shadows, the echo manipulates all
and all of a sudden, the voice is worthless.
The echo has risen, vengeance with purpose
in the forgotten dark where the voice will fall.


Moments are what define the game.
The action is sudden; that’s the claim to fame.
Constant action back and forth is tiring to the eye
and all flow of blood to the brain is denied.
Moments in short spurts set the tone
for the action, one that requires constant calculation.
A critical moment of action requires a decision
within seconds, or the moment will be long gone.
Moments set the spotlight on a person,
and gives them their claim to fame.
The most individualistic of team games
takes and gives away at random.
Seconds are all a moment needs
to come and go as it will please.
One needs to prepare for each moment
that may never have another movement.

Worse With Time

Worse With Time

Cracks have formed in the concrete

of my continuously weakened convictions.

I constantly declare my defeat

in challenges I should easily overcome.

I feel worn, a wilted flower

that wasn’t nurtured, and was worse with time.

I’ve aged in my mind faster than ever,

a young soul with little bit a withered mind.

I feel stretched, spread in all directions,

trying for things that take up time,

making commitments without conviction,

leaving my wiggle room a thine line.

All my past optimism is gone,

I am in drought, down on my luck.

No one can help find answers that are mine alone,

and it is my fault if I keep getting stuck.

Back in the day, I held out hope

that things would get better with time.

But they only got worse, and they took hold;

I got worse in time and I tremble inside.

It’s time for a reset, and rebuild.

Burn the evidence, start from the ground.