>>3043613>>3043610This was my last poem
The white cat in the mirror is black.
She admires the fur, course and rough, dark as night and yes! with a glance, her life must have been tough.
God knows she's admired her, trembling at the beauty, alight, the eyes a glass moon and sun that shines at night.
She admired her strength, to live within the barren. call it home and abide on your own, your freedom in the world is it's length.
Now the white cat pondered through the hazy visage, the black cat's wonderful life, perhaps it was just a mirage. The sadness, the cold, the heart frozen in ice. I would like to be her. If only I could stain my white fur black, but jumping through fire would cause me to crack. I hate the smell and I hate the taste, so the black cat's life I cannot waste.
The black cat in the mirror is white. With a twisted pose she glances. the white fur was pure and light, groomed, full of love and a life of daytime prances
And the black cat thought How mundane! How everyday! It's so plain, for all life to be play!
And the black cat began to hate. hate. hate.
The anger was at herself and not at her. Herself had been stained black through the fire. The one that she looked up to, admired.
Torches scorch and the claws scrape. The vision of a barren field, nothing so romantic, but a prison down a well that forces the heart to yield. My freedom was not knowing the prison bars existed!
The two cats are not of different times, but they exist together at the same place and time. How can this be? Her existence is like a mirror that reflects the ideal existence, the cat who can break free. It's pure irony that the one's ideal encompasses the other.
I already know the ending of the story. The winner is the one who realizes it. But the loser is the one the winner wishes to live.
And my life too is behind glass. I can't reach her. But I still want to. My world, her world, their world intersect at the same lines of the mind.
