As It Breaks
Cracks blister up,
The porcelain fades,
The face of your cup
At the end of its days.
You wrap it in glues,
And gauze it with tapes.
You shadow the hues,
And touch up the scrapes.
And once you’re all done,
It’s back on the shelf,
It never sees fun,
Your slight inner self.
Drawing a Blank
It starts with a circle
And ends with one too.
The way that you scribble
With crayons of deep blue.
They say that it’s perfect,
So how could you tell?
All that they see
Is a sketch of a yell.
Your scribbles of shapes
Left out of alignment.
They look like the shouts
Of men in confinement.
You may still be young,
But quite soon you’ll know,
The blank piece of paper
Is your greatest foe.
Tell Me
Tell me the names
Of all who you know.
The faces of friends
Who fade into snow.
The hearts of your comrades
They don’t like to show.
The hands of companions
You never let go.
Tell me the stories
Of years in your time.
The ones you’ve forgotten
Way back in your prime.
The times you could smile
Your face like a chime.
The years yet to come
Go on in your climb.
Tell me the visions
Of dreams in your head.
The vivid examples
Your mind tends to shred.
The hushed conversations
You hear before bed.
The crowd’s explanation
Of how long you bled.