Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words shatter my soul
Like a thin sheet of glass
In a fragile windowpane
Faced against the icy, piercing,
Wailing winter winds.

Fractures and bruises heal,
Barely leaving a mark,
But a shattered soul-
It remembers each and every
Crack, break, chip,
Often leaving pieces behind that
The jealous, thieving wind stole in hopes
Of making parts of the beautiful glass its own.

Fear not! For the very thing that destroyed
Can also mend the glass,
Molding, sealing the mess back together
Until a new, stronger, more beautiful
Picture forms to illustrate the story
Of the stained glass soul.