My mind was a mirror:
It
saw what it saw, it knew what it knew.
In youth my mind was just a
mirror
In a rapidly flying car,
Which catches and loses bits of the
landscape.
Then in time
Great scratches were made on the
mirror,
Letting the outside world come in,
And letting my inner self look
out.
For this is the birth of the soul in sorrow,
A birth with gains and
losses.
The mind sees the world as a thing apart,
And the soul makes the
world at one with itself.
A mirror scratched reflects no image —
And this
is the silence of wisdom.
~ Ernest Hyde ~
(Spoon River
Anthology)
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