The Candle and the Mirror

The Candle and the Mirror

I keep a mirror by my bed,

And light a candle when I dream,

It flickers shadows on the wall,

And turns the world to something unseen.

One night the flame grew strangely tall,

It danced as though it wished to speak,

The mirror shimmered, shapes took form,

A vision soft, yet cold and bleak.

I saw a figure dressed in grey,

Her eyes were mine, yet somehow far,

She mouthed the words I longed to hear,

But each one broke against the scar.

The wax ran slow like bleeding time,

The air grew still, the scent grew deep,

She pressed her hand upon the glass,

And whispered softly, “Do not weep.”

Then all went dark, the candle died,

The mirror cracked from side to side,

And though I woke with trembling hands,

Her voice still lingered deep inside.

Now every time I strike the flame,

The air grows cold, the night stands near,

I see her eyes within the glass,

And know the end begins right here.