Who is the Fairest of them all?

One day I found a Mirror,
And couldn’t resist to error,
To pretend that this one
was much like the fairytale one.

I asked,
“Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who’s the fairest of them all?”
And to my surprise it replied,
“My Queen, is the fairest of them all.”

Was this a prank?
Or was this mirror really frank?
Was it really animate enough,
to answer my questions without a huff?

I voiced my doubts, while dusting it for some fluff,
“Are you a bluff?”
The Mirror seemed offended,
As it gave me a glare and ended,
“I have seen the world, I stand proud and tall.
And ‘tis true, My Queen is the fairest of them all.”

It didn’t sound quite right to me,
and thus, I took the liberty,
And tried to reason,
If the mirror would only listen.

“Does the ruling nobility pay any heed,
As troubles and turmoil plant their seed?
Are the sad subjects to blame?
As the intermediaries play their dirty game?

Does the tear falling from the commoner’s eyes,
Have fate in staining the soil red where it dries?
When swords are unsheathed and guns loaded,
Is it just to have more than peace eroded?

Does order lie in the hands of he
Who stands only to fill his pockets in glee?
Or does it lie in the hands of the man,
who breaks the order only to take a stand?

Does your Queen ever bother to leave
your front, and take in society as it grieves?
Or does she still stand before you everyday,
Blind to the misery and decay?”

I asked again,
“Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
Who’s the fairest of them all?”
I stood before him once I was done,
Waiting for an answer, but it had none. 

I Am Death

Some tremble at my thought
the very suggestion makes them distraught
And desperately they pray
when I am on my way

The others say I am inevitable
and yet they too tremble
Seeking a moment's delay
for when I take them away

They sake their devotion
and ask for divine intervention
To put an obstacle in my path
in worry and despair for my wrath

Every time as the time comes
I hover around them in various forms
Not once is there not a twitch in my lips
as I amuse myself over their silly antics

After a point, it no doubt gets annoying
as I inflict on myself the damage from their wailing
It makes me glad I'm not alive
my dysfunctional senses having one positive side

I cannot for the life of me fathom
what is there for them to seek safe haven
For I visit every door and every heart
without fail! Isn't it an art?

I am not pain, I don't make them suffer
and yet they shy away in terror
Why? I want to ask them
but keep my silence, reminding myself it's golden

I am but a messenger, a simple means of transport
carrying the soul as my load
I drop it off at its pre-decided destination
Heaven or Hell, there are not many options

Yes, I put an end to life
but only when the time is right
I am nothing if not fair
I take decisions with great care

And yet they curse me
calling me the image of cruelty
For I come and snatch their last breath
Yes, I am Death