The Mirror!

Was it a dream or a premonition? The Foureyed Poet.

The Foureyed Poet

Coming upon the long mirror in that bedroom

there I saw my image looking cold.

With a complexion drawn full of gloom

not believing how I could look so old.

Despair could be seen etched on my face

what had drawn me to this mysterious place.

The house was historic yet somehow known

no way could I own a mirror like this one.

And a niggling feeling I was certainly not alone

almost glaring into a dark place with no sun.

I saw movement yet the image was not same

frozen in limbo I watched as the monster came.

Compelled in a morbid fascination to watch

as the clawed hand came out of the mirror.

Just catching my facial skin I broke clear

though not before my flesh was ripped.

Falling over furniture as the blood poured

over my clothes as I faced another mirror.

Disbelief and horror overcame my being

as in this…

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Published in: on 22/12/2014 at 20:34  Leave a Comment  

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