Mistakes grow by the day,

and are remembered in the

broken blueness of yesterday.

Sometimes it’s like the shattering

of glass and big dreams

and you lie across the shards

to somehow elongate the pain.

Disappointment usually follows

like the puppy that ended with a bite.

and I sit there in choked silence

against the ribbons of rage

that pull at my neck.

I am young

and I am clueless,

but I know life is a whole lot of hurt

and a whole lot of sadness

on the verge to where I want to be.

Perhaps it would be lovely

if the world knew only of the snow of winter

and every part of you numbs.

Time there is merely an illusion

and worries a mirage.

Fantasy is found in the crystal sheen of icicles,

and reality only if it melts.

But blessedness appears

when you least expect it

like phantom limbs that grow into a tree.

And perhaps goodness is found within the broken things.

Amongst the carnage 

of ripped photographs and tear stained tissues,

in the sad smile of a gone lover

or the one sparkle in a tear.

Nothing is ever for sure,

except for what is now.

And right now there is hope.

And right now there is a possibility

to fix the glass,

even if it cuts your fingers.