Mirror's Cruel Gaze Poem by Marguerite Anderson

I come to a room adorned with whispers of time,
Where the shadows dance in a rhythmic rhyme,
And there, an old woman stands with a heavy heart,
Gazing into a mirror, looking at the crooked work of art.

Her eyes, once bright, like stars in the night,
Now hold the weight of a fading light.
Lines etched by years, like tales on her face,
Each wrinkle a chapter, a journey to trace.

The mirror reflects the passage of years,
A canvas of memories, laughter, and tears.
She curses the image that stares back at her,
A ghost of the beauty, now just a blur.

Oh, how the echoes of youth still persist,
In the creases and folds, where time can't resist.
Her reflection, a reminder, a silent decree,
Of the grace that once was, and will never be.

Her fingers trace the lines, like rivers that flow,
Recalling the days when her beauty would glow.
Yet, within those eyes, a strength is unveiled,
A spirit unbroken, though time has assailed.

The mirror may capture the march of the years,
But not the resilience that silently cheers.
For in her reflection, beyond the lost grace,
A woman emerges, still holding her space.

She may curse the mirror for what it reveals,
But deep in her soul, a resilience conceals.
A beauty that transcends the mirror's cruel gaze,
A beauty found in wisdom, through life's maze.