The hands of time tick slowly by as dawn breaks in a new day. A nightmare reality of the receding night lies marked, like so many fading stars, in the shattered glass on the floor. Silken shards of sorry souls, their lives now trapped in a dream of what was then, what is now and what should never have been. Each broken image, a moment in time captured for those who were there to witness the whirlwind of a love gone sour. The blood-stained rug tells a tale of woe in a world nobody else sees. A painful portent of the coming storm; of a love that lived and died in the grip of a cold winters morn. The dancing flames of a freshly lit fire can do nought to chase out the cold, for the night was so long and the panes etched deep; too deep for the kiss of desire. Rivulets of blood trickle to the point of the sliver I clutch so tightly in my hand. I feel a pain shrouded ecstasy as I watch my life drip away to the beat of a now broken heart. Like the pain that I bore as I knelt on the floor at your feet. It was too much to bear. “Oh shattered reflection of all that I was come press the point of your pain deeper, that you may bring down the night to the end of my lonely fight. I commend all I was to your keeping.” Written by Darren Scanlon, 9th December 2014 Revised by Darren Scanlon, 15th June 2015. ©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.