Yet Another Poem
This is what I consider to be one of my best ever poems and one of the few I'm most proud to have written.
SPLINTERS OF GLASS
She arranges her roses
in the small, heavy crystal bowl
that sits in the center of the dining room table.
Blood red--her favourite colour--
juts out of the multi-faceted orb.
She gently strokes each delicate petal,
and breathes in their beautiful scent.
But her eyes unconsciously travel to
the fractures in the glass--
Barely noticeable to one not looking.
But she knows they're there
Oh yes--all too well.
The sound of distant shattering echoes in her memory.
Once again, she sees the shards--
thick glass splinters--
the instruments of death.
Salvation, oh yes--deliverance from Life,
as she picks a piece up off the floor,
and paints it red.
The bowl is now whole again
with only its thin scars as a reminder,
scars that mirror
the raw bracelets encircling her wrists.
*LRB
SPLINTERS OF GLASS
She arranges her roses
in the small, heavy crystal bowl
that sits in the center of the dining room table.
Blood red--her favourite colour--
juts out of the multi-faceted orb.
She gently strokes each delicate petal,
and breathes in their beautiful scent.
But her eyes unconsciously travel to
the fractures in the glass--
Barely noticeable to one not looking.
But she knows they're there
Oh yes--all too well.
The sound of distant shattering echoes in her memory.
Once again, she sees the shards--
thick glass splinters--
the instruments of death.
Salvation, oh yes--deliverance from Life,
as she picks a piece up off the floor,
and paints it red.
The bowl is now whole again
with only its thin scars as a reminder,
scars that mirror
the raw bracelets encircling her wrists.
*LRB