Poem By Robert L. Bixler III
When the shards of empty glass
Are collected and disposed;
So shall the empty, hollow mass
That was my excelling life supposed.
Jagged edged and blood stained,
These shards unholy are remanents
Of the truth that unseen remained;
My life was unworthy of any sacraments.
Useless glass-form holding life’s energy
With thickened sides to withstand slights,
Forgotten coloring and lacking synergy
Of another to serve compliment under lights.
From my hands this vase falls
To explode in shattered shard form.
Sadistic smile and sinful calls
Allude eternity as I watch destructive norm.
To end my lofty burden of heart beat,
I long for the blasted glass requiem.
When jagged, damned blade meet
Loathed skin and blood, carpe diem.