Eisoptrophobia

When the hens turn blind at sundown

and they roost high above them trees,

the orange moon gleams

on the navy blue,

peering through the woven curtains.

In haste, the young girl’s heart beat would quicken

as she cover the mirrors in her room;

using cloths of red,

not a shard of it showing,

‘lest the sealed evil spirit come lose.

Yes, she fear the mirrors each night, all night,

dreading to meet her vengeful twin.

Who’d scream in her dreams

with all her spite

gurgling of blood and mites;

an inimical side of Beauty.

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