The glass shattered.
The bottle broke.
Only fragments are left behind
Where trust once was.
The pages have been torn.
The book ripped apart.
Only the confetti
of the lingering of a broken dream.
But the mess cannot remain
the ash can no longer coat our surroundings.
Order must once again be restored.
The chaos needs to fade away.
But the piece of glass pierce the skin.
They prove difficult to sweep.
And even more difficult to find.
The pages have turned to ashes and dust.
Scattered every which way.
Constantly fluttering out of reach.
Avoiding entrapment.
Avoiding despair
Avoiding loneliness.
The process is grueling.
The dance exhausting
The effort draining.
But necessary none the less.
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