Reflections in a mirror

Staring through long curls of black and auburn,
Eyes of dark brown survey the scene before
Him. A sheet of crisp white paper sits on the
Table infront of him, illuminated by a candle. He
Tousles the highlighted hair aside as he picks
Up his pen, and lets it all flow from him.

The words tumble out from him in a cavalcade
Of metaphors and feelings. He marshalls them
Into lines of thought, lines of emotions, carresses
Each word as it has come from his heart, Writes
Each word with the passion and care of a lover
He gives life to the once blank sheet of paper.

The candle is nearly out, the light sinking so low
To the table it blackens the wood around it. He
is almost finished. The words have not stopped
Flowing. He has much to write about, much to pen
Out. Finally, the last word has been recorded, has
Been immortalised on the paper. He has done it

Behold, his heart translated in writing.

Cheers and Waiting,
Healing Poet