Mirrors

we are yet mirrors that shattered from the Big mirror-

supposing only to reflect the beauty of which You are.

Seeing the Big mirror and realizing that even the shattered

pieces also reflect that light, and picture.

Love seems to be more cruel than the grave, yet

is also as intoxicating as the finest wines.

You told me I am not an oak tree, but a bamboo tree.

I thought why? Yet I now know why-- for when the wind

blows, then the tree bends and sways, yet undamaged in the end.

It also grows 80 feet tall in five years? Growing pains maybe?

What is the sacrifice You require? Is it not an emptying of ones self.

Does love demand? Or do You want those who with their free will

choose to love You? And yet You are in all and some unrecognized

or dormant.