Thursday, 7 April 2011

The Mirror

Don't get the mirror, no, don't touch,
She will not look,
She's lost too much.
Her face;
That once upon a time,
Was all reflected, always fine;
Has changed;
For time, a jealous thing
Has wrinkles ploughed into her skin.

Her once bright beauty's lost beneath
Her faded, powdered, puckered cheek,
And bitterness has gripped her brow
No laughter lines, just fish mouth now.
A fortune spent, to no avail
Her face it tells a sorry tale,
Regardless of their creams and lies
A sagging hangs around her eyes,
And even knives could not defend
From botox scars, for in the end
This mirror tells a bitter truth
Old age has clearly stolen youth.

Far better had she faced the fact
That being eighteen would not last
And focused on the her inside
The soul her vanity denied,
Perhaps instead of fear and doubt
Her spirit would have shouted out
And made the most of what she'd got,
Instead of leaving hope to rot
Perhaps she would have seen the truth
There's more to life than craving youth.

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