Seeing beyond a silvery surface.
A gateway,
A cold path,
with a foe standing
in direct opposition.
As though he could
reach through
and break branches
on a tree of life;
the arms off the letter "t".
Standing as if he was
more,
greater.
And he is
when the mirror means
so much more
than an image.
"Ana speaks slow and quiet"
There is a song
that some hear
when seeing their face
in porcelain,
or their lies
in mirrors.
Striving for an absolute
they can never reach.
Starving for a perfection
they will never find.
Ana sings slow and quiet
while showing dolls;
many plastic passions.
When Ana crescendos
the world falls away
into a pulse machine
and healers words.
But after the tune,
in Ana’s silence,
all that’s left is
a wire frame and
a half beating heart.
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