Glass

A short poem written for my blog:

GLASS
I am but a man, cold unfeeling flesh.
No touch may hold me, no eye behold me.
Like clockwork I move, unwilling.
My world is made of glass, my hands razor sharp.
The slightest touch can destroy all I have built.
A world I made to contain my shattering heart.
Nothing I do has effect, nothing can repair my damage.
I am as cold as the dark sky, as unmoved as stone.
I bring chaos, despair and anger wherever I build.
No foundation is strong enough to hold my heart.
I am breaking, inside out and further still.
No warmth can heal me, no arms enfold me.
I am as empty as a hole, so vast none can see to the bottom.
I am but a man, nothing more.
I bleed, I breathe, I die and yet no tears fall.
I am as twisted as a being can come.
None can fathom the pain I ever increase.
She hears me but doesn’t speak.
A very word can destroy my glass creations.
She silently appeals to my soul, but the flame has died.
I am nothing, lost and drowned.
Sorrow is my only friend, a wandering artisan.
I am my own jury without a plea.
In this case, there is none not guilty.
The pain racks my body and I am unmoved.
I do not eat, I do not sleep, I am a darkness.
I am but a man, no, less than a human.
I am nothing, a septet.
There is no relief, no where to hide.
I am intermittent and unaware.
I am lost, without repair, and now I fall through the glass.
All my world, it was doomed to collapse.

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