Though brittle tears lie deep inside,
scars that cannot be hidden
are laid bare
for an uncaring world to see
The painting is now finished,
the artist is done,
and the care worn lines
are unmoved
by love or care
A symphony of anger,
all broken glass
spins memories, like particles
of ice and dust.
Melting years
are new dew on old leaves,
now that the rain has passed
