Mirror

A plain and deserted wasteland
Without light or joy ,
A once glorious garden,
Just a blank canvas, like white sand

Sometimes there are painters
Trying to recreate
Some unknown and mythical thing
A beautiful image a 'pretty face'

A hateful owner with empty saddened eyes
A mouth to spit poison
Or hatred
Or lies

The flowers now faded,
Left no rosy imprint to show they were there,
No love remains, no life,
Save for the blood red hair.

Just a plain and deserted wasteland,
That the tears erode every day,
Wasting slowly and silently away,
Like a blank canvas, like white sand.