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 15th June 2015.

©2014 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.