There is no beauty in the shattering
When all that is left is broken pieces
and the splattering gasps of a broken heart
falling apart at the seams.
No more flattering.
It seemed alright to tell you,
spell out my love for you,
but folly is that familiar taste of bitterness,
wintermelon smashed into smithereens,
my twice-woven, thrice broken dream.
It is the emptiness that moves me,
A hollow feeling, reeling in a sense of lost dignity.
The death of possibilities, filling me.
Do you remember what promise tastes like?
I don’t anymore, the floor beckons,
imploring me to lay aside, confide in
the small still quiet of tile,
resting awhile on the smoothness
to soothe a jagged breath,
to smooth a ragged head.
I miss the sound of tempered silence,
2 parts calm and 1 part defense against the possibility
of defeat, so bittersweet…
because now I can taste freedom,
rain that reigns like glory,
but maybe I’m just confused,
defusing delusion into subtle illusions,
and maybe its the musings
of a broken heart.