With splintered iron inside wasted shrine,
Forever schemed against forlorn at home.
Like hatred mounted from iron in brine,
In sadness not unlike the silent dome.

Now I'm afraid of fireflies at lake,
Await the wounds to bloom from flutter flight.
While I walk alone for silence's sake,
And hide from ruby mud of rain-less night.

Unblind and blind much shallow graves we heaped,
With tears for some and many swallowed shouts.
While seeing too much light and light less eyed,
And stole some laugh from cheerless nights of doubt.

Unbroken, broken parts are mine alone,
Like shattered glass to make mosaic whole.