So fragile, clear sculpture, smooth and of glass,
I trustingly, carefully, gently pass.
You hold it and smile, say thank you and see,
All that I value and what’s left of me,
Inside of this figure, my hopes and dreams,
Violently cracked, it cries and it screams.
Uncaring or careless, barely aware,
I pick up the shards, I keep with despair.
I feel disappointed, yet no surprise,
Why would things change after all of these tries?
Now harder to trust, how could I allow?
What is the difference? Who’d want this gift now?
No comments:
Post a Comment