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Posted to Action Poetry

The mirror stares back at the face
It reflects the image of the great race
The final race to perfection
It's the curse of reflection

A few more creams and colours
Adorn with fragrances of flowers
Pre-occupied at all hours
The gruesome face of perfection
The ultimate phase of selection

Age is evil
It takes away youth
And reveals the truth

The race is feeble
Yet quite vicious
The souls become ficticious

The darkness of medieval
Descends on the whole
Time takes its toll

The search for upheaval
Is the end of fear
Of life without a mirror

The streams shall forever run
They shall only reflect the sun
Only then,
Is it the dawn of reprieve