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.

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