An antique mirror
dull gold surrounds the silver puddle, frozen and hung on my bedroom wall.I gaze into it, and catch glimmers of the past.
A little girl toying with a doll,
before she stands and let's it fall to the floor,
a teenager,
perhaps the same girl,
brings a lock of hair to her lips, as a tear rolls down her cheek.
A young bride, full of such sorrow I want to turn away,
yet I can't,
pulls a knife out of her draw and
plunges it into her heart.
I reach out my hand, and let my fingertips trace the glass,
as the crackle of flames behind me
tells me know I'll soon be a memory, for another to see
and watch
and fall into the spell
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