It is An Old Superstition

It is an old superstition.
The mirror, and the room
dark behind it but for the
flickering of a few fading
candles. The face reflected
is pale, but it is late,
you have woken. No sound.
We are hushed: the familiar
has been rendered unfamiliar,
the memory of the dream
lingers still. We are damned,
burdened by memory, the
truth, the hour, the hollowed,
haunted eyes laid bare.
But look, is there another?
You closed your eyes so that
you would not have to see.

J.M. Summers was born and still lives in South Wales where he works as an IT Consultant, and is kept busy with a growing family. He enjoys hiking, bird watching, photography and cryptic crosswords. 

Previous publication credits include ‘Another Country’ in Gomer Press, and publication in numerous other magazines and anthologies.