The blank mirror

There is a poem,
Trying to peek into the mirror.
However, it shall not be reflected.
The muse's soul is tattered,
With a cover of steel.
There is a light at the deep end,
Harsh and dim.
The words are turning around,
Some of them are just melting,
Some of them playing a trick.
They trickle down the lovely face,
Not mine,
Not yours, for sure.
This shall be a prayer,
A curse,
A lover's plea.
This poem shall not be written.
Lets celebrate the blank mirror for once,
You and I know how blissful it is.