(a Shakespearean sonnet by MysticRiddleton)

Lake of mirror from beneath,
On thee reclines the wet gray cotton sea
Glowing faintly overneath
Projects penumbras of the tree
Pictures alter by the angle
Heaven slithers swift as I
Near and closely leans in angle
Sees thy creature eye to eye
Alas! The radiance that makes thee luster
Decides to pluck thee bit by bit
Pictures fading by the mirror
Lake of mirror, be not beat!
Keep thy stagnant lake, oh mirror
Let thou ripple with some vapor.

Life had been a picture box
Wherein all are painted in monotone
Only what's to be seen are being shown
But go down in mem'ry—rusted love locks.

Everywhere you turn,
the pictures look the same
Still in place as you carelessly aim,
A heart can only discern.

Be it winter, spring, summer or fall,
The external; the internal remains
But a sound, a voice, in my head refrains
Yet again, it's the film's time to roll.

Once, I caught a glimpse of a smile
And wondered what it could be
How can an image look so different to me?
A thought unusually worthwile.

Flowers begun to bloom and blossom
Releasing fireworks into the sky
Could these fingertips reach them if ever I try?
Rainbows cried on a sphere of monochrome.

The waves are still amidst the the twinkling waters
And you hear the echo of a distant hymn,
fading and fading and fading

Paint splashed all over the sky
in a mix of colors instilled in you;
dripping in anger, confusion, joy, despair
You run aimlessly to escape the truth
only to find your feet on a mirrored image,
it's fading and fading and fading

You find yourself in a box, engulfed in darkness
You flick a light but it keeps on dimming
You struggle to escape, ending in misery
The turmoil erupts and it's suffocating
Like a wheel, the cycle keeps on spinning and spinning

---

F or when
I n distress,
R escue comes
S aves you from
T he troubling pain

A nd as you lay
I nto the stretcher,
D eath arrives.