Broken Glass

September 3, 2008
Pause the rain
Or stop the car.
The music is near
But the sound is far.
Cut the water.
Or move the stars.
Broken free from chains
But behind bars.
Scream to me whispers.
Design my dreams.
My reality of truth
May be what it seems.
Stationary, I run.
Silently, I speak.
Screaming, I think.
Still, I am meek.
They won’t understand
Until they age,
Open a new book,
And turn the page.
Pick up broken glass
And dispose of it.
You can’t piece together
What never will fit.

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Tweedle Dee said...
Sept. 11, 2008 at 12:44 am
i LOVED it! oh my gosh, you are absoulutly incredible. this might be, like, almost my all time favorite poem. wow...
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