Shadow Self

One expects the face in the mirror to

be a reflection, an image of what

is.  But sometimes what you see is not that,

rather the Shadow Self, the flip side, who

lurks unseen but undenied.  The silver

tinted woman of my sight, with glinting

eyes and a death-trap smile, is taking

her chief joy from sorrow, which delights her.

A femme fatale with tarnished soul, for whom

nations fall and proud men break.  Too fair

by far, whose love grants eternal power;

in whose hate, fire of a Goddess looms.

She knows not mercy or justice; all care

is orchestrated to benefit her.

A dark alternative, a might-have-been,

where but for grace go I, yet she has taught

me something:  I know myself better for what

I am not, what I could be.  Her jade flints

are my glowing emeralds, her sultry

danger is my charm, this fearsome beauty

who bears my face.  I can not give fealty,

nor could I ever reject her fully.

She is my Other, my version of

the dusk-shade that dwells in each of us, the

lurker, the threat, the suggestion, who

shows result of straying from the path of

light, reflects power and humanity,

the terror and the glory of the Shadow.

[Authoress’s Note:

[A variation on the Petrarchan sonnet.  The usual rhyme scheme for such is abbaabbacdecde, but that was because Italian rhymes more readily than English does.  I’ve altered it only slightly, so it is now abbacddcefgefg.]