On top of the dresser lies the window to your soul
It is nothing special,
From its gentle mahogany trim,
To the oval glass and the fist-like plastic prongs,
Holding the smooth portal to the backing
You walk closer and smell the musky smell of the forest
You reach out and touch it
The glass is smooth and hard
The trim grates like sandpaper
It sits there in a still silence, you pick it up
SWISH SWISH SWISH,
That is all you hear as the wood rubs together,
Sounding like to pieces of paper
Rubbing together
You look into it and your soul comes into focus
As you see your true self,
With all the perfections and all the flaws.