Within my hand I hold a piece of broken history.
A painted piece of glass
To the touch it is hard and cool
The edges sharp but the refection pure
It does not lie
It reflects only truth to the bearer
It imitates darkness
It mirrors light
It reflects beauty
It reveals a pain furrowed brow
It reflects a tear filled eye
One piece of painted glass
Endless are the stories it replicates
It holds no recollection from one gaze to the next glance
Our hearts reflect, it also remembers
Remembering a lifetime of emotions
It is moving
It is living
It is heavy laden
It is light
It takes in the darkness
It absorbs the light
It doesn’t have sharp edges to cut
It feels real pain
It has the capacity to love more than comprehendible
It has the ability to hate deeper than imaginable
The mirror and the heart
Look into one, see the moment
Look in the other, see a life
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