The Gilded Mirror

I sat watching,

quietly,

almost holding my breath

as the grey sledge hammer

swung deftly

towards the gilded mirror.

How the great hammer shown

magnificent,

it’s reflection framed

as it was,

in that great, gold frame,

scrolls dazzling my eyes

as the light bantered playfully,

the glass like a lake,

still and waiting.

The sound so shrill,

as it erupted,

the smashing sang like ripples,

the tinkling shards tiny notes

in a sea that has been blinded,

except for the mosaic,

tiny bits of vision,

that lay at your feet,

remnants of itself.

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