Bits of glass
Litter the ground
In serpentine patterns--
The glass mosaics
Of my glorious future...
Destroyed by your
Thieving hands.
You walked away
Without a second glance,
Nor did you offer
To pick up
The mess
That you so
Obviously induced.
In an attempt to restore
What was once
Rightfully mine,
I drop to my knees
And pick up the pieces
To replace them
Inside my hollow heart.
Everytime I pick up
One of those
Beautifully crafted shards,
It cuts me deep
And sears the soul
That embraces the pain
That I so mysteriously treasure.
Memories of you fade
As I arm myself
With gluestick and rag;
Putting together this
Not-forgotten future
And polishing the
Shards of my dreams.
