Poem, rhyme, shadow

MIRRORS DONT TELL

Squeaking rats, the rabid bite;
unseen screams, new moon tide,
and worldly wars, bayonet tips;
promises made by tipsy lips.
The screaming winds that blow outside,
squalling birds who run afright.
Bleeding hands, deep etched scars;
dreams that wake me with a start.
Shadows that dont seem to leave,
household clamours that make me grieve,
but what I fear most is that gaze
that stares right at me through the glaze-
its good that mirrors dont speak and tell
the dark shrouds buried deep in my cells.
all that glitters is not gold,
thou must fear what I withhold,
the mirror’s gaze that doth foretell,
the sinister brewings in my shell
its good that mirrors dont speak and tell.

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