Broken Mirrors Curse

Seven mirrors broken when I was seven, longing for the day of lifted depression, mournful memories collide in cacophony, journeys thru faded tapestries taunt and please, a practiced facade of cheerful bonhomie, unwelcome regrets return with the breeze, visions of the future after the curses end, a new man approaches from the mists of time, not quite ready to shake his hand, a gypsy queens benign smile reflects in her crystal ball, perhaps a man will rise from the fall, grapes are being crushed by feet for a new wine, swords are ready to be sheathed, disappointment and resentment look down at their future grave, fresh fields stretching to the golden horizon await light feet, as forests of the dead burn in the background, final goodbyes to the ones I could not save, a new journey will leave behind unavenged deceit, wisdom awaits the call to reveal the profound, seven broken mirrors will no longer curse and enslave.