Mirrors

This corner of my cosy house

Holds up a solid mirror

I dare not go anywhere near

For I may die of horror.



The mirror in the marketplace

Gives me the nicest of looks

The library has window panes

That wink at me between books.



Something it is with my mirrors

That we are not so friendly

I get a smirk back when I smile

Their looks are so fiendly.



I carry a round little one

In my perfumed, pretty purse

But when I bring it up to see

Some resentment it does nurse.



I stop by my relative's place

For occasional greeting

And the mirror at her home says

It was a pleasure meeting.



Something it is with my mirrors

That know my dirty insides

They find no pleasure meeting me

And I don't like them - besides.



I look into the eyes of my

Beloved and sweet lover

And what reflects is not my face

But a pathetic blunder.



Just yesterday I went swimming

The waters smiled back at me

But walking into changing rooms

I saw a ghost beside me.



Thinking now I feel it is not

The mirrors that are smirking

It is just my muddy soul

That's on my shoulder lurking.


Picture Source: http://goo.gl/MZUO7