Mistakes grow by the day,
and are remembered in the
broken blueness of yesterday.
Sometimes it’s like the shattering
of glass and big dreams
and you lie across the shards
to somehow elongate the pain.
Disappointment usually follows
like the puppy that ended with a bite.
and I sit there in choked silence
against the ribbons of rage
that pull at my neck.
I am young
and I am clueless,
but I know life is a whole lot of hurt
and a whole lot of sadness
on the verge to where I want to be.
Perhaps it would be lovely
if the world knew only of the snow of winter
and every part of you numbs.
Time there is merely an illusion
and worries a mirage.
Fantasy is found in the crystal sheen of icicles,
and reality only if it melts.
But blessedness appears
when you least expect it
like phantom limbs that grow into a tree.
And perhaps goodness is found within the broken things.
Amongst the carnage
of ripped photographs and tear stained tissues,
in the sad smile of a gone lover
or the one sparkle in a tear.
Nothing is ever for sure,
except for what is now.
And right now there is hope.
And right now there is a possibility
to fix the glass,
even if it cuts your fingers.