In a realm adorned with reflective glass,
Where egos dwell, I present a riddle en masse.
Within this stage, vanity takes its stand,
Inviting pondering minds to comprehend.

A reflection of self, it beckons the eye,
Whispering promises, bidding you try.
It thrives on admiration, fueled by acclaim,
But beware, dear seeker, the cost of its game.

For what shall it profit a man, do you see?
To gain the vast world, yet lose what makes him free?
A soul, so precious, can't be sold or traded,
No treasures amassed can heal what's degraded.

In glittering halls, where accolades gleam,
The ego expands, a self-serving dream.
But deep in its chambers, a void may take hold,
As true purpose and essence are left in the cold.

Vanity's whispers may echo so loud,
But heed the warning, escape from the crowd.
For hollow is the victory, a facade so frail,
When the soul is neglected, left to bewail.

Amidst the illusions, stay anchored and true,
Embrace what defines you, what makes you you.
Seek not fleeting fame or material gain,
But nurture your soul, let it rise and sustain.

So ponder this riddle, its truth resonates clear,
As vanity's grip may draw ever near.
Remember the words, a timeless control,
"What profit, dear soul, if you lose your own soul?"