The glass is dark as water in a well,
And does not show the silver of your eye;
It acts as both a heaven and a hell,
For every silhouette that wandered by.
A thief once reached to touch the polished face,
And felt his double pull him through the pane;
To leave a hollow and a lonely space,
Where only dark reflections now remain.
The shadow walks the world in borrowed skin,
And drinks the light that once belonged to you;
While you are locked within the glass, so thin,
A phantom of the things you used to do.
The mirror waits upon the dusty wall,
To catch the darkest part of one and all.
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