Mark R Slaughter (1957)

The mirror struggled; reflecting beauty such as hers
Prescribed a glory in the challenge - a fairytale
Or such as like! To shimmer back hypnotic hues
From auras of her skin - how do mirrors cope?
Hoary tales of pretty adolescent buds
Could never hope to match the tomes of dreamy
Pulchritude apprising us of such a belle as she.

The mirror shone; and as it worked itself, a moment -
Did it overlook the hidden melancholy?
Were melting eyes bedewed-? Florid lips imbued
With mournfulness? The hindrance of the silver glass!
Oh! to seek - to know the meaning of the sorrow!
She (with tearful hair, an image out of heaven)
Never opened up her heart. The mirror struggled.




Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009










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