I am simple, pieced together

According to scientific laws:

Though some may call me art.

I am unfeeling certainly; just a tool

For man's use

Though undoubtedly, women use me more

I am used constantly,

A puppet of other's needs

And even when they go I have no rest:

Though sometimes they darken me

With tattered rags; for preservation they say

Even then, glimpses of light glance through

And so, shattered images I return.

I hang, stiff and proud

Polished to a shine:

An aging soldier in all his glory

Yet youthful, unspoiled, divine

Images come and go; are lost within me

Still: no one contemplates a mirror's memory