The Mirror

At the stroke of midnight, when all is still and shadows sway and secrets hide,

Placing more than simply reflections in its silvery grasp, the wall becomes a vessel for more than that.

Surface that shimmers, cool and smooth,

Warbles unknown stories of terror,

Because the truth twists in its depths,

Illuminates what ordinary observers have failed to notice.

Glistening glass is traced with fingertips,

With each passing ghost, a shiver runs down the spine; their voices reverberate, low and gentle,

In voices filled with misery, fear, and agony.

The cries of a mother and her kid,

A group of rescued sinners, clamoring to be reborn, press against the fragile surface.

The night becomes darker and the shadows dance,

Where darkness resides, in the mirror's very core,

A dark sorcery, a mark of the devil,

Shine lights into the shadows.

Avoid staring into someone's eyes for too long,

A siren's song is sung by mirrors.

With just one intense look, with just one daring stare,

Along with the glass, your very soul is sold.

When the sun is shining, they appear harmless; then, as the moon rises, their actual nature becomes apparent, and a creeping terror pervades the night.

Thus, avert your gaze,

In order to avoid believing the falsehoods reflected in the mirror,

When you've finally seen inside,

Anxieties feeling ever sets in.

There is no respite, no guiding light,

What a terrifying prospect now before you,

Because you'll see the monster who won't go away in the mirror.