A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Watch me, as I start to fall,
Although I love not my reflection,
I'm besotted by perception,
As if the spaces in between
Demand the separation seen.
Thus, with arms full do I carry
That which unity would marry,
Gifts abundantly received,
All duly labelled to deceive,
For quantity to naught amounts,
Forgetful of the thought that counts.

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