Tilting to the West [Poetry]

Parasite

Searching black and white photographs, yellowed
and wrinkled now with age. Looking for an accurate
reflection of yesterday, to know who you are today.

After marriage, you became the role you thought embodied
your new life. Replacing dreams and boundaries with
one set of thoughts and feelings, none of which were yours.

Perspective blurred until the woman was replaced by
children and activities who gave meaning to an empty mind...
until time took the little ones away.

Looking into your compact mirror, trusting eyes that
have been deluded for moons, you convince yourself,
"I'm fulfilled and content with my life."

Forgetting the color of reality, supposedly your favorite
color, you paint the entire room a popular shade. Saying
it's exactly what you wanted, but knowing differently.

Now sitting where friends are absent, an acquaintance's
voice drones on and on. You listen and nod your head
while planning the weekly shopping list.

You survive, playing the victim that I know you're not. You,
who murdered the inner sanctum years ago and now repentant,
hoping to resurrect a life so casually betrayed and murdered.

The mirror refuses to disclose the easy answers you prefer;
you plead, "Who am I"? Perplexed and unable to turn back time. . . 
depending on others to feed you, while consuming yourself.

Photographer Credit: Gilles San Martin, Creative Commons