Daily Whitman


A Hand-Mirror

  Hold it up sternly—see this it sends back, (who is it? is it you?)
  Outside fair costume, within ashes and filth,
  No more a flashing eye, no more a sonorous voice or springy step,
  Now some slave's eye, voice, hands, step,
  A drunkard's breath, unwholesome eater's face, venerealee's flesh,
  Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and cankerous,
  Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination,
  Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams,
  Words babble, hearing and touch callous,
  No brain, no heart left, no magnetism of sex;
  Such from one look in this looking-glass ere you go hence,
  Such a result so soon—and from such a beginning!


Posted on 02/12/2014, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: