Broken Glass

Photo Credit: akeg (Flickr)

by Darryl Scott

In the sunroom, there hangs a piece of glass.
Oddly shaped, its gleam inspires a wondrous perplexment,
Penetrating the souls, of those who would behold it.
Many have dismissed it, as nothing more than a curiosity.
I pretend not to mind.
But a select few, for reasons of inscrutable magic,
See more in the glass, a substance carefully hidden,
Blatantly transparent to them, shining through,
The p(r)etty surface.
Each time they approach, and in the joy,
Of having merited their attention, I am foolish enough,
To entrust them my glass, yearning for them to see,
The light as I do, to witness the marvel,
Of its radiance. Each time they drop it.
It shatters on the floor, fragments splayed,
Across the room, and each time,
That person leaves the sunroom, without return.
I pretend not to mind.
Each time I collect, gathering every ostracized shard,
And piece the glass together, its facade marred,
With a web of cracks, etched permanently,
Into its form, and each time,
I grow reluctant, fearful of trusting it to others.
One day, as the glass is edging,
To the point of disrepair, I lock the doors,
To the sunroom, barring it,
From the malignant gaze, of any loving visitor.
I sit alone, with the glass,
And as the sun rises, I notice the light,
Reflecting off, its broken surface,
Illuminating the sunroom, in a cascade,
Of wondrous color, a full spectrum, of dazzling light.
The cracks have released, the substance hidden within,
Every broken fragment, coming to fruition,
In an ethereal beauty, shining,
As was never achieved, in wholeness.
I unlock the doors, to the sunroom,
Proudly displaying, my broken radiance.
Many dismiss it, as nothing more than a curiosity.
I do not mind.
I wait for someone, who will not drop the glass.

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