A poem I wrote when I was in 11th grade:
-Images splay in a thousand directions.
Fragments of reality divided.
Shards of superstition,
reflecting fear and idolatry.
Dust of diamonds
too small to gather in searching hands.
Soft light goes unreflected,
Antique frame left naked.
A fair hand reaches...
-A drop of ruby...
The looking glass will show no more.
It's pretty straight forward. A poem about a broken mirror and what it looks like when I imagine looking at it. The 'shards of superstition' bit is all about the seven years of bad luck. Then what happens when you try to clean it up.
I actually like this one (: