…to break the glass

I sit alone watching flowers, forever trapped in glass
a light rain stains the view as the wind circles
reflecting their sorrow they do not grow and they do not die
these flowers in glass, they just forget how to live
they are always alone in their translucent prisons
their beauty untouchable
I imagine a kaleidoscope of chaotic emotions
filling their porcelain souls
aching for someone to break the glass, to finally set them free
but their light is still reflecting, even in their captivity
even in the darkest of nights
and I understand their dilemma, for I too, live in a house of glass
along with the shattered shards of my poor, broken heart
I try to gather the pieces, but they are fragile, easily broken
and in the end I am left, with blood upon my hands
still trapped in the past, in a dark mosaic of loss and pain
trying to tell myself, over and over that there is beauty to be found
in the fragments of a broken heart
© Ann Bagnall