A stranger to myself, in mirrors – froward gaze.
Wrestling shadows of who I was, in bygone days.
Time’s artist etches lines with secret, silent ways,
While the heart beats a rhythm, constant in the maze.
In reflection’s truth, self-stranger no more,
For even froward paths lead to wisdom’s door.

In response to Weekend Writing Prompt #356: This weekend your challenge is to write a poem or a piece of prose in exactly 46 words using the word “Froward”.

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