The Compassionate Mirror

by Jack Bizga

They come with lanterns trimmed in gold,
To seek the ruin they’ve foretold—
A figure pale, a soul undone,
A trembling shade that needs their sun.
They speak in phrases soft and worn,
Well-practiced grief, rehearsed concern;
Their mercy moves by clockwork art,
A ritual learned, not of the heart.
For in their minds I kneel and plead,
A cracked and pitiable need—
And so, I nod, and so I play
The ghost they brought to chase away.
I let them bind my unseen wounds,
Though none they name are truly mine;

I drink their cure, a sugared doom,
And thank them for the draught of brine.
O gentle fraud! O sacred lie!
That grants them wings on which to fly—
For I, compassionate in shade,
Become the altar they have made.
Yet never once do eyes align
With what resides in this design;
They love the echo, not the voice,
The outline—not the deeper choice.
My depths, unplumbed, remain unsaid,
A vault where truer thoughts have fled;
No fellow diver dares descend
To where my darker currents bend.
Thus understood, I am alone;

Thus pitied, I remain unknown.
They leave, assured they eased my pain—
I stay, unmatched, beyond their gain.
And in the quiet, vast, and stark,
I dwell companioned by the dark—
Not wounded, weak, nor torn apart,
But simply seen by no true heart.
A compassionate mirror I become,
Yet understanding me is never done.
I’d split the corpus callosum in two,
To let one mind bear witness to the other’s view.

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Jack Bizga began writing in September 2024 following an extended period of isolation. Since then, he has written over 300 poems and is at work on a philosophical treatise. His writing draws on experience in bartending, emergency medicine, taxi driving, and environmental conservation. He often explores moral panic, alongside recurring themes of nature, love, and loneliness.