By: Emery R.

Dear Muse, please sing of the girl in the glass
who searched herself every day for a thing that could last
among the facets and fractures of a mirrored reflection
combing for something to stand against that inevitable selection
that age brings as company wherever it roams
because first it’s your skin, than your mind that may go
so goddess, tell of the girl who was weary of age
didn’t want her “self” to be  forgotten and a pile of helpless rage
and so she searched and she searched for that elusive rhyme
that with the utterings of its words could be a cure for time
recite her many journeys, through the Monstrous Seas
the Road to All Ends, and the Land of Desperate Pleas
and don’t forget about the divas, the stars, and the dramas
asked if their “miracles” could be found in the pharma
forget me not (blue) say those sirens with care
whose gifts can be fleeting, and such had interest to spare
but this girl really didn’t quite know where to start
it was the place she eventually traversed, the road of her heart
among its chambers and aortas; its arteries she traveled
until she could be still, intricate truth since unraveled
because it’s in the memory of people that your true legacy stands
be careful of yours because there’s where you’ll land
and so this girl found that curious, somewhat bitter thing out
and has since resolved to live in the here and the now
so Muse, since you worry about how you may last
say a prayer and begin tell of the girl in the glass.

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