Shattered into a million little pieces,
Fragments float gently down to the ground.
I gather a few on my palm.
Neither gentle am I, nor harsh.
Perhaps unfeeling, numb.
I look at them closely,
Little colored bits,
Of myriad different shapes.
For a moment I hold them still.
And then with one gentle kiss,
I blow them away.
Curious eyes watch as
they swirl erratically by:
Fragments of me, blown away.
2 comments:
A man once said, "Its a crime, not to have rhyme".
It is also a crime to only criticize. Remember the villain in Ratatouille? Critics are the most immoral people ever.
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