In the morning it crawls,
Searches in solitude.
As it creeps along it finds
Pieces of itself, small shards that
Reflect
Parts of its entire soul.
In the afternoon it walks,
Hopes for independence.
As it moves along it discovers
Pieces of others, small shards that
Reflect
Parts to be cast in life's play.
Later, in the evening of its time,
It limps,
Suffers in disparity.
As it dies, and has found itself,
It cries out,
For all its shards have been pieced together
Only to be broken again.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy and Prose
PoesíaContaining songs, dreams, poems, and prose, this is a collection of my inner-most ramblings. When I need to unwind, I write.
