Outside and inside

What's outside is far different 
from what's inside.

Outside - is all a curry,
billions of mirrors
for everyone who sees it,
mirrors that never break,
even after death -
black, tinted, polished,
all kinds of mirrors.
Mirrors with garlands,
mirrors of love,
mirrors of trust,
of friendship, of respect,
of animosity, of hatred,
of all gamets of emotions
that you could expect.

Inside - though is different,
there is no mirror here (I think),
for no one is really seeing me, 
except,
I think that *someone* is calling me,
or *platonically* pulling me in.
With shackles on my head,
while immersed inside water,
with no breath and no light,
only two things: struggle and hope,
what lies ahead and drives me ahead is:
fear of a fathomless future
that lies in uncertainity,
as to what kind of mirrors it holds,
and if the shackles are broken,
and when they are,
what exists and what not?

(My guess is: just mirrors and nothing else)