Private Mirrors
I may be an artist with brush of skill
I may be a musician rare of thrill
Possessed of voice sweeter than my pen
I may sculpt in clay now and again
I may be starving for all you can know
I may be bleeding for what I would show
I may be weak or weary beyond your ken
Or I might be quite blissful now and then
You may be all of these things and much more
You may be my equal on every score
You may own many such fine qualities
As those I hold, or quite diverse from these
Yet intent upon private mirrors
But a sole reflection can there be
I do not know you
And you don’t know me
poem by Mary Havran
Added by Poetry Lover
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