Riddles's Journal

Your fingers gently wrap around the searing edges

The gaps opening in the once whole urn

Looking in on life and love, hoping it was your turn

But it fractured, smashed by wayward hands

And feet, watched over always – from a distance

Watched and occasionally polished

Now it’s broken – beyond repair

And no glue can fix these holes

These cracked edges, the faded paint

The lost resemblance to anything worthy

The grating ceramic stings the spine

As you watch it tear itself from itself

Instigated by gravity, but finished by reluctance

And relief, Ornaments survive on shelves

But the sentiment remains hidden, forgotten

Dismissed.