Friday, November 12, 2010

For the Hatred of Mirrors

Parts and bits of mirror shard,

Stick up, stand straight from the rough wood floor.

Pieces of mirror, glass now shattered,

Lying all upon my closet door.

Lying dead upon my closet door.

A hundred eyes look back on me,

A hundred faces, none the same.

A hundred different forms taken,

Taken upon a breaking frame.

Asking, begging for so much more.

Masks set firm on wall peg places,

Mounted in cement and tears.

Steel girders gird the secret bower,

Locks and chains made of memory and fears.

A central piece from crimson tore.

Pull the veil once more across,

Hide the Holiest away for now,

Tear not at this gentle steel curtain

Pierce not past this faceless brow

Let lie the sleeping, vampyric core

Bits and parts of shattered facemask

Sticking up from the mirror’s floor

Chipped ceramic faces falling

Falling, breaking upon my iron door

Breaking, shattering–– no more.

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