The Broken Mirror

I seeth mine own life,
in the reflection 
of an fusty mirr'r. 
 much as mine own life,
t hast a lone st'ry. 
 t hast seen much anguish 
and the untrue beauty
in the w'rld 'round t.  
 and hast been hath brought 
v'ry closely, 
to the pointeth of shatt'ring.  
 
at which hour i behold in the mirr'r 
i doth not seeth myself.  
 rath'r, the countless 
failures, and regrets 
i has't ev'r so did create
in mine own years.  
 i seeth much of mine own saint'd 
moth'r, who is't at each moment hath said 
i wouldst nev'r riseth above
coequal the dirt on did grind
regardless if 't be true t is true 
what those gents sayeth 
to alloweth the dead inurn their
owneth, i cannot escapeth mine own 
past.  Mine own past ling'rs still  
much as a wild creature
in the night waiting to attacketh thee cannot feedeth 
t  thee shall findeth, yond thee
art only prolonging the inevitable. 
 death is m'rely an irrational
plaited.  Without passion, 
thou art already dead