Reflection

There's crimson, though only
In the veins beneath the white
There's a reason, known only
To the ones within his sight

This mirror is just his brain
Baffled, bereft and nearly dead
Reflecting what seems to remain
Battered, not broken yet

His buckling knees look weak
How long before he stalls...
His face, his poise of wood
How long before it falls?

He looks at those eyes
Those veins that rivers run
That face, those knees
And that poise so primly spun

Courage, he thinks, my hands
He looks and they are fists
Raises them both, says fight
And re-enters his world of wists