joi, 16 aprilie 2009

Immortal Reflections

The mirror stands alone
No reflection to be found
Emptiness binds cursed space
I stood there to face
Vanity still remain in my human phase

Reflection fathoms into its dark abyss
From my memories of past existence
Need to fill its visual memories
My face forgotten in its damned resistance

Too long ago the dark gift given
My soul remains divided
Between the mortality fixed
Its emptiness unseen in a mirrored being

I seek the artist of my era
To paint a portrait of my frame
To give back my existence within
To vision my face in their painted mirror

But a cruel critic as I was to be
Feeding into their artistry
Remains still a soul unsatisfied
Killing them slowly, twisting my mind

To excellence my beauty to be encased
Forever be my bane of vanity remain
A mortal flaw I soon realized
Made them my food for thought
Seeking many more to create

The one obsession I want to see
My face upon a mirrored painting
The canvas reflection of my features
Missing the detail of unplaced divinity

They gave me such arguments
The shadows brings deepen flaws
But light is needed to bring forth perfection
Only to my still dissatisfaction

That a pile of ashen dust will remain
If light should strike my face
Thus I do seek another opinion
Since they dies within my thirsting feel

As I look upon this many portraits
I wonder by many differences I see
In faces I can't seem to place
Within the dark side of my immortal face

Over the years spend seeking
A face of reflection unmade
Since long gone are the souls of the damn
Vanity is something I haven't given up yet

Life is too long an immortal beget
Without an image that I did forget
Upon the mirror that stands alone
Empty is the space I have since known

Are thing I not willing to let go
For the portraits fill the empty halls
My chamber echoes the ripples of flaws
A face of beautiful perfection
Seem to haunt me to depression

I stood as I always did
As I rise from a slumbering state
Darkness clouds the truth of my face
The vanity left from my mortal phase

Many died to paint my face
Over the years pass by, till centuries flee
For shallows graves marked not their mistakes
For my taste for the artist
Out weights their art in respect

I sleep far too long to wonder
That this renaissance era
Was a mistaken endeavor
Awaken I will in the next hour
A new century opens a new wonder

I stood before a new invention
Replaces the souls of conceited immortals
As I waited impatience upon my portrait
The picture reveals to my perfection
From canvas of paint to surreal magic
The true face reveals a prefect photograph

- by Cold