Broken soul glass
works the shards in deep
a guarded heart forgets
how to beat in the
noise of silence.

The more I lean against
this, the harder it will be
to pull back into myself,
and forgive and forget,
complete my business and
leave me to my thoughts.

A sigh, an understatement,
so I roll these lost lids
back and strain to see
my own reflection,
but it snuck away when
I forgot just who it was.

Piecing it together takes
as long as it will,
and pierces the sides when
needle sharp edges move
back together.

The process is harder to
reverse and revise than
it was to identify the
sources and reasoning.

I forgot just how this goes,
how the truth is sometimes
fake, just how easily
we loose sight and dropp it
in the confusion.

by Ayn Timmerman

Other poems of TIMMERMAN (37)

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