All is Vanity . . .
Soft tendrils of silky narcissism+ . . .
wrap you around like a cocoon.+
Never reaching chrysalis,+ you're stuck,
wondering why nothing fundamental changes.
The world for you, is a comfort . . .
Eternity urges from within,+ unable to penetrate
thin but powerful veil, covering eyes of unreason
that won't see, even though you know it's true.
You shuttle again to the mirror,
avoiding pupils of beautifully irised+ eyes . . .