Smashed Mirrors
I wonder
where they go? Your looks have left you all haggard
and old and
derelict like so many different coloured mirrors,
all
shattered to jagged shards. Black mirror, silver, green, blue.
What wicked
bits remain put back together in a kaleidoscope
of evil
colour contrasting to your lost beauty.
Like your
dreary voice so very ancient. When will you die?
Collage of
smashed fragmented mirrors look nicer than you.
I’m
sleeping in my glass shelter, send me some starlight
to keep me
warm, across the gulf of space by DHL.
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