I looked in the mirror and tried to see,
The creation of wonder I used to be.
But pale sunken eyes are starin’ back,
Bags beneath, almost black.
I see moles and creases where smooth skin was once a cover,
And look, there’s even one ear higher than the other.
He has fewer to count—the number of hairs on my head,
My tired old eyes all blood shot and red.
Muscles are shrinking and spots pepper my skin,
Not lean like I used to be—just painfully thin.
My knuckles are knobby just like my sore knees,
And hairs seem to be sprouting wherever they please.
My poor rump once plump now sags in defeat,
Hoping there’s a cushion on the next seat.
My feet seem to have grown and why did my toes curl?
Sadly where few remain I once smiled teeth of pearl.
Once strong and steady I now seem to shake,
I just don’t feel old—this must be some mistake!
Alas I submit old cracked mirror on the wall,
For tall tales you never tell—not one at all.
But then I thought of Jesus and how He looks at me,
He doesn’t see me as how I am—but how I am to be.

~ Jim Shuman N-43662
Lawrence, IL

(CJNN News Fall 2013)

The Mirror – Poetry by Inmates
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