Like glass destined to break, we shattered; far worse than break.
Walking on the shards of yesterdays ever haunting,
One is left to question, One is left wanting.
More than is seen with the eye, a truth without disguise.
That it could be: the glass could be whole,
Instead of ever longing the touch of your soul.
Swayed to chance, drawn by gravity, an inevitable tragedy, the devil's grant.
One glass still standing, half empty half full,
Waiting, no, longing for gravity's pull.