Impression - III

This was a while ago, I admit

But still sometimes it plays on my mind.

I was wrapping your present,

In whatever I could find, and I came across

A rather familiar foil, it's glare ensnared me,

And it's hue, it glared,

So without once turning over

I chose to use it, unprepared

For perhaps what was going to be,

My realisation of pure truth's

Retaliation, as I tied the knot,

The binding complete, 

What's outside obsolete,

But so carefully made,

Torn and withdrawn,

After the prize has been paid,

And the lies have been laid

Deep down into the ground,

Waiting for the dawn.

And even then, within it's useless gleam,

There are two halves, two sides, joined at one seam;

Though it's true that rarely both are known,

Whichever's underneath basks in it's dreams,

To have the shine of it's doppleganger,

Pseudo-silver simulated perfection,

Artificially embedded with light's deception,

Reproducing the mirror; the art of reflection,

Though it's trapped inside a shallow surface,

Superficial shine, always superficially mine,

And after a while I had to ask myself this:

Why am I the one that has to fulfill the design?
Does the maker not know that perfection confines?

My vain mind couldn't explain why I was thus inclined,

And why did such radiance become cruel and unkind?

But how vividly must I be reminded,

That I only am the ancillary section.

If you were to pick me up, I would not

Replace a jeweled collection, 

Nor would I want to.

As when everyone has made their selection,

In an apparent and cosmetic craze,

I remain simply single faceted,

But that one lucid look in your direction,

Is hopefully enough to set your clarity ablaze.