Broken Glass

Shattered reflections

In broken glass

Just can’t bear to see

What is real, what is false?

Face lined with pain

Sorrow and heartache

Borrowing trouble

Or the smiling visage

Presenting to the world

Carefree and Nar-do-well

The truth is in the middle somewhere

But could true medium exist

When joy and sorrow war?

Perhaps Viviane meant the sword

To destroy this world of seeming

Feint copies, automatons

Merely wound up, marching along

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