Shattered A broken vase lies on the floor In pieces, scattered, shattered, Which patient glue cannot repair, Lamentable destruction. Tiny shards in disarray Upon unyielding silent stones, Deadly-sharp glass icicles Twinkle in the light. With vain attempts to sweep away The evidence of what has been, Unwary footfall in the night A bloody remnant finds. A heart, much like the broken vase Now at your feet in pieces lies, With damage so perfectly done By tossing love aside. An Old Broom, Time, obliterates The memory of this darkened hour, While Living is the patient glue Which, to semblance only, mends. Poetry