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.
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