Poetry from Gabriel Flores Benard

Tinted Mirrors

Imagine a room
brightly lit with autumn aura
of dried yellow and sweet potato.

No doors,
no windows
except to the soul.
Mirrors line the walls 
in fractures and rainbows,
simplistic to extravagant 
eyes of separate shades
peering into yours.
Oh, the ideas, memories,
reflections bleeding out,
pouring back into
your essence.
I envy your shards 
of opportunity.

Now, imagine the page
in front of you,
notebook sheltered in hand.
The light is no longer warm;
dark blue whispers
emanate through the room.
Pen ink lingers on the page,
colors, letters,
remnants of sensory sorcery.
The tinted reflector
has a color of your own:
blood, tears, touch, eyes
lining fractions of your story
A new beholder 
shall soon perceive
this work of art.

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