The Journey Inward

The mirror stands in front of me,
Reflecting what it sees.
Lines and wrinkles, gray hairs, too,
Signs of aging that never cease.

Some might wish their mirror had,
A filter like their phone,
To tease them into thinking that
That image they could own.

But, Mirror, I trust you understand,
The story behind each scar,
My crooked nose and jutting chin,
That make me singular.

In you I see my mom and dad,
My granddad, aunt and brother,
My lineage, my DNA;
Yet I am like no other.

Photo:  Denver, CO.  6.25.23 by LA