The face unloved

The eyes stare at the reflection,
Of the face unloved.
The creases around the eye-fold,
Stared back too- empty
As soul-less black pools-
Devoid of look or life.
The mirror cracks,
Smile, in the mockery,
That the face earns in its wake-
The body is leaden.
As wooden as the inner being.
Immobile and complacent,
The mind tries in vain,
To overcome the static and the strain-
That arrest its vision.
The tears, hiding far back,
In the forgotten recesses of the membrane-
Lurk around as they prick and poke-
Yet the flow remains absent-
While the splintered soul feels heavy-
With all that is pent-up-
Without an outlet.
Dry words die at the throat,
As the hollow voice refuses to speak up.
In silence, the shadow looks up-
In defiance- of the crippling times-
As the ugly feet rest abound in chains and shackles.
The much unloved face turns paler,
As with eyes closed,
The pain is felt deeper.
The gnawed hands,
Reach out to steady the body,
As it sways as it stands-
And then falls - with no echo.