Echoes in the Mirror

I dreamed I was wandering 
Through an empty house, 
Drifting from room to room, 
Each one hollow, silent, still. 

No voices. No warmth. No life. 

Until I found it. 

A single object in the dim-lit space-- 
An ornate frame, hewn from dark oak, 
Its edges carved with intricate patterns, 
Towering over me, wider than my outstretched arms. 

Within it, a mirror. 

My reflection stared back. 
I hesitated. 
I wasn’t sure I liked what I saw. 

An old man bent and frail, 
life’s burdens pressing upon him. 
A withered face, traced with deep lines, 
A roadmap of lost years. 

Eyes, hollow and dim, 
Held no trace of laughter. 
A mouth, tight with sorrow, 
Spoke of burdens borne too long. 

Was this the future waiting for me? 
A fragile shell, a fading spark? 
The frame, a gilded cage, held me captive-- 
Beautiful, yet merciless in its truth. 

Then, a whisper--weak and cracked, 
Drifting like wind through an open door. 

"This doesn’t have to be." 

A flicker of memory stirred-- 
Laughter, sunlight, open fields. 
The things I chased, once vibrant, 
Now blurred at the edges. 

"Take the time," the whisper urged. 
"Find the joy that rings true-- 
For you, and those you hold dear." 

I took one last look at the reflection. 
Breathed in deeply, releasing my fears. 

This will not be me. 

I will rewrite my story. 
Fill my days with meaning, with love, with life