I am a piece of glass

Smooth and glossy,

Sitting up front

I am not cruel,

Only truthful

Reflecting your image,

Your true age

Youthful or old,

Don't say I'm cold

Each passing day,

You would walk over to me

Not to hesitate,

And look and see,

Worshipping the reflection that appears before you,

Believing what may seem

I am not fake,

Only but a reflective lake;

In me I have borne your image

Every day,

Every night,

Throughout time

Years have passed,

An old folk comes by

Reaching out,

To search for her true self

Lo and behold;

She grimaced in agony,

As she could not stand to see,

What had unfolded

For this had become of the young girl,

Now eighty years old,

Her present reflection shown.

(A/N: This was inspired by Sylvia Plath's incredible poem, The Mirror!)