Broken History

Dreams are the privilege
        of those who sleep—
Sound and restful moments,
But I don't sleep.
When I close my eyes,
Light gives way to darkness
        and in the darkness I hear
The slow and deliberate cracking
        like glass shattering
The echo of clanking and tinging
As the pieces of my heart fall to the floor
I need the Light to find all the pieces
The heat of its fire to melt them back together.
But I never get it back the way it was,
There's always a blemish
        a missing piece that just wouldn't fit.
And the fire...
Remnant flames that won't go away—
Can I channel the flames into emotion—
Make moves, start a revolution?
Or will I close my eyes and dream.
Photocredit: Heftiba

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