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.
~
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