The Picture

The Mirror muzzles
the picture it presents,
The heart receives,
What it pretends.

Often I see
the picture inside me,
The razor removes,
The character evolves me.

The stigma annexed,
Crumbles with fever,
The want subsided,
Me, that raising-river.

Don’t want to mess
the gears I’ve got,
The stockades still little,
I play with fiddle.

The waves go
and dash the shore,
The depth sand bar,
I die for more.

May be, this I call uncertain,
Cause of the alarm I have:
The figure moves in me,
Bending the blight I have!