A scarred, stained, tattered soul
A nothingness ripped apart;
A destitute, worthless part
Of an existence yearning to be whole.
A lost dream, forgotten conversations
A faded memory, a tiny drop of rain;
A shard that causes a searing pain
When touched with consolations.
The scattered salt of broken mirrors,
The unclaimed, lonesome islands,
The glassy stare of leaden silence ,
Those feet that only trode the path of errors
That the old and wrinkled hands of time
Would run backwards to snatch, to pelf
The lost moments that could redeem my Self
And teach it anew to sing and chime.