Disclaimer: Song lyrics that appear in this story are not owned by me, they
are owned by a very talented singer and songwriter named Annie Lennox she
also owns the line pools of silver water that being said please don't sue
me all I own are my poetry, my computer, and my memories. Also if the poem
and the first few paragraphs look familiar it is because I posted them
earlier under one of my other pen names Sylvia Sylverton the poem is called
"Untitled" and the first few paragraphs are under the story of the same
name "Truth Revealed" since this is an updated version of that story. Also
during God's POV there is a line that I don't own "eyes of a little god"
that line is from Sylvia Plath's poem "Mirror", this story is very loosely
based on ideas presented from that poem. I also mention Alice and
Wonderland, which is owned by Lewis Carroll.
by Sylvia Sylverton
The truth- people spend their whole lives searching for their one
truth- that one purpose that makes their lives worth living. They come to
me in their entire splendor begging me to show them as they really are. But
they're not ready for that kind of honesty, they're not ready to know the
A woman stands before me, her tears fog up my lenses, she is hurt by
what she sees, she wants me to change, change just for her. Foolish humans
they actually believe that we are like God that we can take something and
change it. They think that we could reverse time if we wanted to, but time
stands still for no one. The woman picks me up; her hands are shaking so
badly I fear that she may drop me. She looks through me as if I am a pool
of silver water, an image that can easily be broken, rippled or changed.
But I refuse to be broken that easily.
I can imagine what she is feeling, a mixture of nervousness and fear,
her hands are shaking wildly with anticipation, and she can't wait to see.
She is searching for something, something that she longs for, something she
knew once, something she had long ago, for some aspect of herself that is
long gone. Her heart breaks before my very eyes, she is tired of herself,
tired of life. She feels unimportant, like no one would care if she
disappeared. But she is important to me. She cherishes me although I am the
one that brings her anguish. Without me she is nothing, and without her I
have no purpose. For a mirror without a reflection, is nothing more than a
carved piece of glass.