Disclaimer: I sadly do not own anything relating to the Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay, Gaston Leroux, or anything else this poem might be based off of, except my own ideas. So yeah...
This poem describes the moment in which Erik first sees his face reflected in a mirror given to him by his mother, with emphasis on all that the mirror reflects. It also does do a little foreshadowing of what Erik's later years will be like, and also touches on Erik's changing emotions. Hope you enjoy it, and please REVIEW!
The Mirror
The tarnished silver mirror
Lies against the far wall,
It's engraved rose
Creeping steadily up the handle,
Until, reaching the curve of the glass,
Bursts into voluptuous bloom.
The mirrored front,
Or What is left of it
Faces towards the heavens,
If such a place exists.
Scattered across the floor
Are the remnants of the mirror.
Shimmering shards of glass
That reflect the world
And naught but its physical truths.
When not fused together within
The silver cage of the mirror,
These fragments create a mosaic
Of the room in which they lie.
Some depict the panes of a window
Streaked with rain and grime.
Others show sheets of paper,
Covered in intricate drawings and compositions,
That litter the floor of the small room.
But the pieces lying farthest
From the mirror's silver casing
Reflect something entirely different.
A child, a boy no more than five or six,
Crouches in a shadowed corner.
The tiny figure trembles in fear of some unnamed horror
And shakes in silent sobs.
But the tears are hidden
Beneath a snow white cloth mask
That covers the boy's entire face.
He has seen the truth
Reflected in the merciless glass,
Which reveals no more,
Nor any less,
Than what it is shown.
He is haunted by a monster
That lives not amongst the dust under his bed
Nor in the cobweb-ridden attic closet,
But one that contaminates his very flesh.
The boy is no longer sheltered
By the innocence of childhood.
He has instead learned of the deformities
Than exist both in the flesh and inside the soul of every human being.
Inside his mother's soul,
Upon his own face,
And in the eyes of every man to see
The truth that lies beneath the mask.
But he still knows only a little of the pain and cruelty
Of the world into which he was born.
More years will bring more hurt and hatred,
Shutting him off from a world that can never accept him.
He has become a ghost in his own house,
And the hideousness of his face
Begins to enter his soul
And consume his every thoughts.
Resentment toward a mother who will never love him,
And despisal of a face that he can never change
And will haunt him until his death.
Suddenly, the boy begins to move
Toward the silver wreckage of the shattered mirror.
He gently picks up the silver corpse
And runs one of his pale slender fingers
Over the engraved patterns.
Oh that he could be the rose
Upon that silver handle
And be caressed by the hand of a mother
Whose touch he will never know.
He then gazes warily at the montage
Of his face in the remaining shards of glass.
For once does not see the truth,
Only a lie in the shape of
A white cloth mask.
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