Man is prone to fears,
they say.
Some fear the dark,
Others dread an obstacled way.
To each is his own,
A battle to fight,
Looking, seeking
For a way to capture the light.
I too have
My set of frights, demeaning.
That can be analysed not
Despite all screening.
For my monster is neither virtual
Nor real.
Yet my flights it restricts
And my dreams, seal.
My dreaded demon
Is the mirror on the wall,
That overlooks my glory
And highlights each fall.
The mirror that looks me in the eye,
Unnerved,
While telling me each pitfall
Was deservingly served.
It is a devil that exists
Both inside and out.
The torture unleashed via
A muffled shout.
I can turn to none,
Nor plead within.
For it is the punishment
Of an unatoned sin.