They cradle in fear and made the people live in tear.
Speeches were in sorrow as thoughts were in marrow.
In the passing nights, shadows could only walk in heights,
When all the faces were forced into their hidden traces.
All that they sought after, was to see the mirror in laughter.
In their forced labour, others were lead into gross favour,
Nothing could hamper their thoughts only how they stammer.
Believing in the best but yet was denied by the rest.
A stunt mirror they looked up to but was a place of terror.
Though the mirror be broken, it was a life that nearly was stolen.
To be broken is not to be stricken but to be sorry is not a worry.
Life as an image in a mirror needs to be cared from the rage.
If not handled with care can easily lead to despair.
Everybody wants to win the war but only patience can open the door.
A broken mirror has many faces but a stolen mirror has a broken race.