Pragon Of Grace

In the gleaming expanse of the looking glass,
A youthful progeny stands in stupefaction,
Contemplating his own visage, an ebb and flow
Of countenances, ranging from jovial smirks to sullen lamentation.

The milieu in which he exists is pervaded
By putrescence, avarice, and execrable depravity,
A domain where the sanctity of naivete is coveted,
And the warmth of affection is left to atrophy.

Yet, in the shimmer of the argentine surface,
The child finds comfort, a haven of repose,
A reminder of his untainted essence, unsullied
By the sordidness of the external world.

For in his reflection, he perceives
His unwavering fortitude, so radiant,
A conflagration that shall never wane,
In the presence of the globe's malevolent might.

The looking glass serves as an epitome of veracity,
Preserving the child's immutable spirit,
A resplendent luminescence in a realm of duplicity,
A refuge from the world's malevolent merit.

Thus, he stands, this paragon of grace,
Gazing into the glassy ocean,
Recalling his pristine station,
In this realm of malevolence and treachery.

And so, he remains a beacon of incandescence,
In a universe of Stygian darkness and desolation,
A representation of his puissant juvenescence,
A symbol of love, so uncommon and rare.

And as he contemplates, he can discern,
Reflection portrays his autonomy,
From the world that endeavours to devastate,
His mentality, his heart, and his soul's jubilance.