A Man Who Loved Himself

A Man Who Loved Himself

He tipped his hat to mirrored panes,

admired the cut of jaw and chin,

paused to grin at window walls

and never asked what lay within.

He combed his hair like setting sun,

each strand in place, each smile rehearsed,

his compliments a hollow sound,

a thirst no mirror could ever quench.

He danced alone on marble floors,

bowed low to shadows on the wall,

told stories where he played all parts

but heard no voice beyond his own.

He built a throne from empty air,

a kingdom forged in shallow light,

a man who ruled without a heart,

whose kingdom crumbled every night.

And when he aged, he kissed the frame

that held his youth in frozen light,

then walked away with hollow eyes,

too blind to see his endless night