Adone in a suit.

Starched to perfection from head to toe.

Made to belong on the best streets of the best cities of this world made of dirt.

A gentleman first by his looks and than by his mannerisms.

He turned eyes daily, it was so long he found himself almost not caring by now.

Successful, working hard, kind when it fitted him.

Striving to bestow what he got to unfortunate souls if he could.

He cut a figure so clever and handsomely took the rewards into his high castle.

One day his world made of truths clear as day cracked in the middle like a mirror too heavy for its frame.

That world tilted, changing its reflected view.

He tried to straighten it but he couldn’t remember what it looked like before.

The halved surface tricked him, blinding burning destroying.

Cease your ascent for it is as vain and futile as your looks.

The mirror said through the crack.

You shall never again compare to the little tin soldier you were.

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