Cracks in the mirror

Little tiny cracks that form
On the mirrors on the wall
Broken reflections through I see
None of them really quite me

Broken souls, broken lives
Something's just not quite right
Painted over with neoprene
The little cracks now barely seen

I see faces, I see dreams
I see ash and dust and seams
Seams with naught but held together
By mere threads that barely linger

And even now the threads do quiver
As Life bends its little finger
Ripping apart the painted masks
Exposed and terrified thus, alas

Then the moment passes, and the cracks are gone
Gaping wounds close with time's endless song
But the scars never really heal, do they?
Everyone's broken in some way.

The aching

There is an odd aching
Deep in my heart
Even when I gaze
Upon the smiling
Countenance of the
Sweet of my eyes and my heart

With every mine heave
And every mine forward motion
I wipe mine brow
Gleam of the sun reflected
Off my teeth

Mine thoughts wonder
The accomplishments and acclaims
The faults and failures
I yearn for this foreign
Sense of satiation and satisfaction

Mine thoughts wonder
Am I not to reap my own harvest
To sigh to my heart's content
Yet I dare not speak of
My success

Because mine sweetheart
Whilst she heaves and advances
She goes down a road
Unchosen by her heart

Even as time
Flows unforgiving
Even as time
Ticks away without
Ever glancing back

Even as time
Attempts to work its magic
Of healing broken hearts

This odd aching
Remains.