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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Analysed In pieces, A broken mirror Splinters of reflection leering at the sky, Dry and lifeless, Gasping, drowning in a dingy flood A river, a tempest, a storm Forlorn. 'You are the fragile one' she told me, you smiled and clutched my hand. 'You are the fragile one' she said, I smiled as you clutched my hand, Did you understand? Fragile? Me? Yes but in what sense? Glass is fragile, and so is crystal, Porcelain too and so are you. Was it not you that cried, Was it not I that died, inside. I tried, God knows I tried, I tried to be there for you and us and her, Unsustainable, improbable So sad inside, So black, so oppressive Nowhere to hide From the beast within. But remember Niagara? You chased squirrels through the lens, In a sense, we were happy then, Juts you, just me. I remember the garden, I always will The rings at our fingers, Were a light burden then, The flame wreathed eye As yet unaware of our meagre presence. I miss you and what we were or could have been, I see it in her eyes, the last shreds What little remains. I can almost here you laughing still, When your laughter was that of a girl And the woman in you was but a butterfly drunk on pollen and sky, why? Why did it have to be this way? Was it all my doing? Was it me to kill the light of you? Was it my darkness that thrust you into shadow? I cannot say, I do not know, but I feel it to be so. And that hurts, And it is worst when I see her, So happy, so free, So much of you, in her, So much of me. Afraid. She might become too much like me Or too much like you, Ideally let her be like us, The better part of us and what we once were, The better part of me, the better part of you, In her. Carlos
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