Mirrors

I sparkle at night, sometimes.
I am a myth;
And sometimes not even that.

I am a deer illuinated
Covered in mirrors.

Those who see me speculate with their sharp eyes.

Sometimes they do not like what they see.

What is dark must always be brought into the light.

I have collected many words on my body.
(My body, a book.)
The forest holds my stories.
It is made light by my words.
Someday these words will be illuminated by men.

Tonight my body is illuminated by a man.

I see jealousy shine through my forest of reflection,
and frustration glaring down a pair of sights,
and I am afraid.

I am not all-seeing.
I only see what is in front of me,
and sometimes not even that.

But I saw his eyes:
But the hunter looked at me and did not like what he saw.

When he looked in my mirrors,
he did not like what he saw.

A bullet from a car window,
a gift to mankind.

I am in demand -
I am the pretty things,
The pearls.

I am what it is to be known, and to be remembered.

Hell is laid bare before me and I see your heart.
Your story is on my body,
somewhere.

I did not die that night as the coils of the grave overwhelmed me.

A furious bullet is sweet,

But my image is still sold at home decorating stores,

And I am, in fact, alive.