Reflections Poem by Ciara Harrington

Ten past the hour and she's standing in a room
To look at her reflection is her alleged doom.

You'll find her pining, touching her skin
Her reality is opposite. A forbidden sin.

Her ill will misleaded, her ill intent bright.
Her hand reaches toward the glass, only one can be right.

One rendition is thin with beautiful thoughts
The other one much wider led along in fraught.

Societies misimpression - perfection an illusion.
Many became a victim driven by delusion.