Reborn

Blinking, staring, reaching out

To touch the glassy reflection.

It is solid, unmoving, but

The image continues to play out.

Shadowing every move,

A copycat with a stony face.

The figure turns away

Stalking out of view, out of the glass face

Face no longer reflected on the

Watching glass that stands there.

A guard, a sentry, a watchdog,

A gargoyle, a demon, a gruesome photo.

The figure walks back into the picture

A snow globe in hand,

Only to have it thrown,

And watch it smash into the reflecting glass

Realizing that it didn't grant any satisfaction

As the watching glass crumple on contact.

Sharp glassy tears cascaded from the wooden frame,

The snow globe shattered on the carpet,

Liquid seeping, thick and sticky, on the floor

Sand tumbling out of the shattered dome.

The figure dashes out of the door,

Feet pounding on wet sand

As the tides slipped in and out

Silent, oblivious, carefree.

Exhausted, the figure stares down

Into frothing, slipping, gurgling saltwater

Watching the reflection fade in and out

Distorted, angry, rippled.

A sharp snap, the figure sunk to a sitting position

Onto the wet sandy dune

Hands on knees

Face in hands,

Only to lash out at the reflection.

Watching it disappear and reappear

No matter how hard the figure tried to keep it away.

An unspoken word slipped from clenched teeth

As fists pounding the ever-shifting reflection in salt water

"Why?... Why me?"

Of course no answer is given,

Only continuous sighs and the occurring smiles of winking stars.

The figure stood, brushing off sand,

Wiping unnoticed tears off of tan cheeks,

Stony brown eyes wavering

As feet carried them toward the doors.

Whispers carried by crickets

Of doubt, fear, guilt,

Of ANYTHING

Plagued the once strong mind,

Only to be silenced.

When those stony brown eyes

Snapped upon the shattered glass.

Tan hands set the wooden frame onto the ground

The glass shards shimmered as tan hands picked them up

Sliding them back onto the frame.

The reflection reformed piece by piece

Fractured by lines, creases, cracks.

The waning moon and stars were the only source of light

As sharp, shattered, shimmering shards snagged the tips of fingers

Drawing tinted edges of blood along corners of the reflection.

A shattered, cracked, reformed figure looked back,

Mouth pursed, eyes dark.

The reflection smiled,

The ghost of the past sanding in the shadows.

The figure turned, half expecting to see it behind,

No… only imagination.

This was just a reflection.

But that was her reflection.

This was what it was supposed to be,

No matter how shattered it was.

AN So, yeah. I don't know where this came from. Came from the a warm up in class. Anyways. Reviews aren't mandatory =D