My Reflection

A torch-lit hall, a cold stone floor A door of death, bone and gore It opens to a shadowy room I hear the cries through the gloom I see the blood but hold no sword In this room, He waits In rare panic, I turn and see the mirror It's His face staring back with hate I struggle and strike this man I see But know that I will never prevail As this man, my enemy, this man I face This man I despise without fail Is me -Shanian Mortimore ©Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.