the mirror is a boundary made of shadow glass and pride it only shows the surface where the temporary hide when the work is finished the pressure claims its prize a sharper image awakens in the reflection of the Wize truth is not hollow it will not bend or pass the diamond of the spirit cuts clear through looking glass scoring lines through illusion where the superficial breathe and breaks the frame of mortal time to scatter immortal seeds the glass may crack and shatter and the image fade away but what was forged in pressure and pain isn't subject to decay the poet leaves the mirror cracked like a door to enter where anyone can take a look inside and see the cosmic mind suspending time

