I have a fascination for broken things.
Things that are easy to bend,
And hard to mend,
Always resort to pretense,
Of being happy and gay,
Of feeling jolly in their darkest dismay.
I see their hearts,
Fluttering like butterfly wings.
Broken by the smallest drop of rain.
Fear clotting in their venomous vein.
And all through these perils,
And all through these pains,
Petty tries for a wry smile,
Between the sparkling frame.
What a sight!
What a pretty sight!
For a man like me,
For a man who detests silence and fame.
A man who knows who he is.
For all its worth,
He is but one of them.
Thank you for Reading!
Some of my other poems:
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