The line

Why do mirrors betray the reflection I seek

My line isn’t as straight as I left it, complete

The turns and twists aren’t left from design

And yet I’m left with no question they’re mine

I search but can’t find the origin or end

I follow the feeling of sorrow in the bends

I have no remorse in myself nor harrowing hate

A young child my line was narrow and so straight

Looking forth I see not where it goes

I feel death and depressed as the line gets to the end of the road.

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