The Brutal Friend

by Skinner Layne

The Mirror is a vile glass
Who mocks us day to day,
He doesn't try to give a pass
When we want to see our way.

He points out our imperfections,
He laughs at us to our face,
And knifes us with rejection,
When we enter his vaunted space.

He tickles us with an angled view
That seems to us appealing
But then throws our witness askew
Those vicious details revealing.

So why do we return each morn
To gaze in his vengeful lens?
To see our outward appearance torn?
Or so we our face can cleanse?

The mirror, you see, is our best friend
And so we visit him week after week.
For he alone the truth won't bend
When his counsel and advice we seek.

To know the mirror, what benefit!
Though our pride he long ago stole--
I truly wish that I could get,
A mirror for my soul.