The Hurting

Didn’t know how broken the glass in hand truly was

Fractures barely discernible…

Seemed clear enough

Drank liberally from it many a time with no second thought

Then one day the bleed began

Started as a tincture secreted from saliva glands

Progressed from top to bottom

Drool to stool

Stains and droplets

To clots…

But life won’t stand still even for those who bleed

Nothing taken for granted

No gift given without a need

Tend to business at hand back-logged piled in a heap

Or burn it all down

Tell one’s self…

Fallen beneath tracks, beneath notice

Couldn’t have possibly meant enough to keep

Let go of reflections

The sword unsheathed in anger will be the same

fallen upon

Release the clutch

Let the glass drop

Hear it shatter

Feel shards and splinters spraying ankles

Pick away the pieces

Careful not to become imbedded in soles of feet

Face down…

The demons

Face down in brokenness

Bleed…

Tend to the feet

All the rest beyond grasp

Rely and trust

Upon a shine that must still exist

Somewhere…

between top and bottom

Centered within greater clarity now

 Scouring the rust

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