I have been sold stories of old
Fed furtive rhyme and reason
Rites of passage blurred
'Twas lost - a golden season.
The wise welcomed my foolish death,
I built a morgue of ink and pages
Behold! In the clandestine mirror!
A wraith! Amongst the sages.
And what little became of what was once
My loyal, living reflection?
Engulfed in smoky fogs of doubt
Cast into oblivion!
Alas! 'twas the darkness
I had to touch to understand
The gifts of light and life
The fury of a firebrand!
Undead! I rejected the stories!
Unresolved! I shunned the folklore!
To believe is to be!
Their believer? I am nevermore.
A greater while to defy
But when I looked again in the mirror
The only sage was I!
I may be a hardened wraith
But I venture for what's in store
What is mine will find me
Stay tuned for my ghostlore
Faith, hope, word, and will,
All the armor for the fight!
None can stop me from shining
If I seek to touch the light.
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