Walking on Shards of Broken Glass
Photo credit: Fares Hamouche-Unsplash
Undertones and whispers
beautiful memories
fragrant and deeply colored flowers
blanketing the forest floor.
I am walking through my dying.
Fueled by the fires of antiquity,
I am strong yet afraid
of the essence she foretold.
I am meant to thrive in the embers
that are filling the night sky.
I am lost.
I see myself in the shattered mirror.
Blemishes and pain in the crevices.
My spirit, looking through a window
of a future I once knew.
Crying to the setting sunlight.
Wanting to be free to chase the radiance
of the deep obsidian cavern.
A longing, crushed by my selfishness.
My conscience lies naked and afraid.
Pools of memories that I have obliterated
through obsession and weakness.
Leaving me with blank stares into the mysterious winters of the lost belongings of my childhood.
Dishonoring my vows through a veil of repression and scars.
Shards of broken glass that I walk upon.
Cutting my feet with meticulous sounds echoing no more and forever.
MAD |3–30–21|
