A Broken Glass

They are the fragments that consume attention; mocking quite effectively the whole, which stands the martyr in exhausting innocense, waiting for the drama to begin. Oh my dear, how appropriate a symbol for a life. Completeness just a launching pad for an eternity (or so it seems) of epic entropy. Your choice, good sir! For myself, I'll take the pieces-- all of them. Glistering before my eyes, they summon to the light everything I do not know, but yet most stubbornly still entertain-- and there's the glory, isn't it? A world out there, and more awaits beyond, that eyes shall never see. It is perfection we are dealing with, or something that imagination finds inadequate, and if that does not stagger you, our worlds do not communicate. I choose the light, the warfare in my soul. It is in the body I discard where peace enjoys its fragile reign. In all eternity, my broken glass gives off its multiplicity of rays to quench our hunger, thirst and blindness-- for in that most quixotic splendor, all humankind is blessed. ~