Chasm

In the dim light of early morning,

the mirror reflects more than a face—

it holds a riddle, a duality suspended

between the glass and the soul's recesses.

There is the outward guise, polished and smooth,

a curated semblance bathed in daylight’s clarity,

where the world’s eyes meet the carefully painted mask.

It performs with a practiced grace,

choreographed by the day’s demands,

a masquerade of composure and expectation.

Yet behind this façade lies the hidden realm,

a labyrinth of shadows that twists and turns

beneath the surface of the self.

It is the inner sanctum,

where intrusive thoughts flit like specters,

dancing to a discordant rhythm

that only the mind’s ear can hear.

In this hidden expanse,

the reflection distorts like a funhouse mirror,

warped by the echoes of self-doubt and forgotten fears,

where the soul’s true face emerges—

a shifting mosaic of fragmented desires

and whispered confessions that tremble in silence.

Here, within this cryptic chamber,

the heart wrestles with its own shadows,

each fragment a reflection of hidden truths,

longing for revelation yet shrouded in mist.

The mirror’s surface, a veil,

separates these two worlds in perpetual tension—

one a beacon of outward calm,

the other a tempest of raw and unresolved truths.

The enigma of the mirror is thus a chasm,

where every glance is a confrontation,

a silent dialogue between the seen and the unseen,

the known and the hidden.

Each reflection is an invitation

to peer beyond the surface,

into the enigmatic depths where the self

stands both revealed and obscured.

Thus, the mirror holds its own secret,

a riddle wrapped in the clarity of glass—

that within every person exists

a spectrum of selves,

each vying for understanding

in the quiet, introspective theater

of the soul’s hidden chambers.