In the old mirror

In the old mirror, pale and worn, Her face reflects, so soft, forlorn,

Cold wind drifts inside, a silent gaze by the pane, stillness fills the room.

Body still in light, skin tells tales of strength and time, calm, unmoved, at rest.

Silent light falls in, thoughts drifting within the room, time lingers in dust.

In the mirror bound, naked soul reflects itself, whispers fill the room.

Deep down, in the furthest corner of my mind, you are hiding, fleeting as a hunch, and yet reality at the same time.

A heart is formed in quiet hands, The fruit of life, blood in the sands.
A dilemma deep within the womb, A path the heart alone assumes.

A cage of steel, a muted cry, Bound tight in shadow, stripped of flame,
Desire locked, the heart denied - Each fleeting breath just feed...

A surreal view of reality is the key to the hidden garden of our subconscious, where thoughts and emotions bloom in unexpected forms.

Emotion