Mirror One:
When I have fears
that overwhelm my confusion,
before my pen has struck the page
with its unmistakable ink,
I find myself in labyrinth
held together by Atlas himself.
The weight of the cosmos
holding down my hand;
the weight of the cosmos
held in my hand.
Mirror Two:
Before I have created what is yet to be,
which holds the universe of possibility,
I become drawn to the improbable;
what fears may come
in dreams that never end;
what joys are left unshared
at the door of anxious calamity?
Mirror Three:
When I behold the vibrating stones
upon the cold shores of the horizon,
I am reminded that all things
come and go with the tide.
Life ebbs;
life flows;
life fades away
to be renewed once more.
Mirror Four:
And I think that I may never live
to see what it all may come;
never see what all has yet to be;
to hear and feel
all those things yet to be brought
to the paradise of existence.
But that is the way things must go;
finding paths and routes,
untraveled or well-worn,
and see where they lead.
Mirror Five:
There are plenty of roads
for everyone,
but no one can trek them all. And when I feel, I tremble,
that I shall never look upon Orcus
with such longing eyes.
Death is a singer,
wailing her final eulogy.
Mirror Six:
Hear her song
and enjoy the melodies,
for when Death has finished singing,
your end has come. Never revel in treasures
of unreflecting discourse.
Disaster looms for those who do not see,
but do not search for Heaven
with your good eye closed;
falsities and fallacies are around every corner;
virgin eyes with dirty looks.
Mirror Seven:
Then on the stage of creation,
I stand alone and think
till the day that which may eternally lie,
even Death, in these strange eons,
may come to die.
Everything becomes known,
but nothing can be done:
the curse of being one with God.