Poem: Bed of Glass

Bed of Glass

There are shards of glass,
memories and pain,
weapons you inflict on yourself
in a place that should bring

peace and rest.
There is color too,
catching the sun,
bright and glorious, reminders

of the best that was.
And you stand to the side,
unsure,
swallowed by the colors and shards,

unsure
what to keep and what to replace,
certain however, that you will be cut to bleeding
no matter what.

============

The picture was taken in Burano, Italy. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom