Through mirror’d days and passing dreams

when things are not quite as they seem,

she made her way on slippered feet

toward the yawning pit of grief.


There was no time for clear-drawn sight,

the world was shawled, there was no light

and time held breath as if to curse

the hope and trust for which she yearned.


And in a moment, falling still

Love screamed and threw herself to hell

for in the knowing that pain brought

the mirror shattered … all was lost.


Upon the dregs and dross of self

she lay and keened, and cruelly wept

for all the truths and lies that lay

upon the barren, broken way.


And by her sat the dark-drawn bride,

touched withered hands to brittle pride

and called in crooning voice so sweet

for woman,  drawn …  herself to meet.



About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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