A minstrel and a mirror

More bad poetry of mine written after midnight. No rhyme and no meter, just written words one after another. The first one’s one more echo of Illuminatus!.

A minstrel rose, facing the grey-faced throng
Held up a rose, a storm, and sang —
“You fearful neophobes, you scared townsfolk:
You see but a monster, a disturbance, a threat
While to me it’s a difference, a start, something new —
Old homes crumble while new ones burn,
A fist in a tattered glove tears up new silk.
Spare the sounder, the new one, the herald —
No demands for a handshake, just the absence of a fist
You neophobes, hear, touch, try, try to understand.”
— they screamed, tore her down, tore her apart.

The second one’s just a strange vision.

Right hand rises, in mirror the left
Buttons rip open, right side or wrong?
Small mirror, so private, a large dream
Clear image, so sweet, future so dim
A knock at the door, a quiver in heart
Normal life, hidden dream, hopeful heart.

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