Room of Mirrors

A room of broken glass and empty, halting tears,

Where each wall is but a mirror—

Reflecting and magnifying

One upon one and one and again and again

In this room of cold attempts of life

I see myself dressed in a shroud of hairline cracks

But when my hand runs over its brother of polished silver

There is nothing under my finger tips,

But a perfect, flawless, unbroken mirror.