A continuation and conclusion of Broken Glass.
16 May 2008, 7:45
I swept them into a dustpan,
gingerly picked them from the debris
found a plethora of remnants,
despaired of binding up
bits of broken glass.
That was years ago, and I’ve found
glass, like water, flows-
sharp edges dull, and pain becomes
less dagger-deadly. This side of eternity,
I turn irregular crystals in my fingers,
gather each and every prism
in the basin of my self, fearing less
for those which harbor yet
a razor’s edge- I am less apt to bleed,
swifter to heal,
having mended what had been so broken,
had lain unhealed for so very long.
Inspired by The Weekend Wordsmith.