Broken Mirrors.
There lay broken mirrors,
Scattered among the floor.
Sharp edges of glass,
Gleaming in the light.
I look down apon them,
Only to see a stranger stare up.
Her face is happy,
Eyes lit bright.
Yet she moves in tune with me,
Just like my shadow.
I ask, how can this be?
It must be trickery.
But I glance once more,
And come to see,
My past self,
Glaring up at me
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