The old, wrinkled man with a terrible scar
upon his pale, war torn face,
and disheveled dirty, white hair
shuffles slowly over the dark marble floor.
Sprinting as he stares up at the faded portraits
on the crumbling cold, gray stone walls
of the ancient castle's great room.
He looks silently, intently into
the tall, oval gilded brass framed mirror
that's been around since antiquity,
and is not pleased with the sight that greets him.
He gazes upon the decrepit old man
standing before him with the bulbous, red nose
acquired from years of hard drinking.
Sad, pale, humorless blue eyes
stare remorsefully back at him.
He thinks to himself
with great angst and agitation;
"What a miserable reflection of the wreck of a man,
who once was great and powerful amongst the people
of the land."
Oh how the tides of fortune have changed,
for his once proud and arrogant life
has crumbled around him,
all because of his many misdeeds, cruelty and avarice,
not to mention all of those shameful, cowardly
acts of vengeance upon his kindred.
Sadly he stands before that great old mirror
reflecting upon those past glorious accomplishments
and resignedly accepts the dire consequences
of his cold, cruel and uncaring life.
An icy fear grips his dispassionate heart,
as the just reward of his evil existence comes upon him.
Fearfully, he stands before life's supreme court
and awaits his fiery fate.
In the darkened mirror, he sees Death's cold, clammy
and cruel hand reach out to lead him,
shrieking and kicking through
the blazing gates of hell.
Donavon Scott Vinson
