The pools are over filling.

Soon the crystals will fall over.

The gleam in the moonlight

Illuminating their strange beauty,

Which slowly turns to hate.

It’s hard to imagine once

That these watery orbs,

Had seen sunnier days.

The bottom is filled with stones,

Each of which brought a set of ripples,

That rip and torn at the serenity.

I try to count to ripples now,

Yet their numbers are just too many.

Their history long forgotten.

Looking up towards the mourning sky,

I can’t seem to see much hope.

That’s the peculiar thing about grace though.

You give your strongest then.

Looking deep into the pools,

I can see the things they mirror.

Amidst the fears and scars,

The mirror can’t lie.

It can’t hide what you see.