Mirror of Souls

A monument of gold
Perfection realized
Not a flaw
It stares back, blank-eyed

No emotion, no empathy
It gazes back, mocking
Ever staring you in the eyes
It knows nothing

Even a statue could cry
Tears flowing, rivers of gold
Aureate pools below
Its knows not why

Akin to wax, metal melts
Dripping away, roiling volcano
Aureate clay, slowly withering
Molded by fate, it dulls to dust

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Glacian, in the year 890 AF.