The mirror spell was cast in a time long past,
When the shadows were more sombre,
And no light was reflected by that polished glass with worn edges,
In a realm where dreams and desires were both shattered and torn.
The mirror held a mystic snare,
Since an ancient curse was embedded underneath;
Its countenance became frozen as the night descended,
Concealing tales of malcontent and sorrow.
None could ever have touched it,
A frail and lost vestige of the past.
No one knew the foolish tale of this magic mirror,
A mirror that, for every glance, granted but a glimpse of dread,
Revealing only truths that none could bear.
Withered hopes and desolate hearts laid bare in that realm of death,
Each crack was a line of sorrow’s trace,
Revealing each distorted dream in a haunting silence.
Each night, it summoned a hollow tone,
Luring the lost to claim its own;
In haunted halls, where echoes roamed like wild animals,
The mirror enticed the lost dreamers,
Making them drunk on dreams, their fleeting light,
Swallowed by chasms as dark as night;
Its silent curse, a binding thread,
To weave the hearts of the forgotten dead.
In this fatal frolic of dreams and oblivion,
Those who dared to peer inside,
Were drawn to an abyss none could disguise;
Till flesh and spirit, thin and worn,
Became as pale as twilight morn.
The mirror lingered in that desolate dwelling,
A relic untouched by time,
Luring those who sought reasons that would forever elude them.
Veiled in glooms, it became a gateway,
Pulling ghosts into a realm where whispers of despair merged with the lingering scent of dust and decay.
Each sigh, a lullaby for the forlorn, coaxed the foolish and fearless alike until consumed by the darkness.
They hovered beyond the reach of dawn,
Into the infinite void.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
