I read once about an ancient practice
to repair broken things

They would take the shattered pieces
of bowls, jars, glasses, pottery,
and fill the sharp cracks with liquid gold

Translucent, shimmering lines
along jagged edges.
Highlighting the imperfections.

Showing that in life,
that which has been broken,
may be made beautiful all the same.

We never see the truth,

             that the world



is but a shadow.


And when we
                see the world for what


it is,

               a form of beauty.


The strengths
             stretch further than the eye


can see..

And we finally see the light hiding in the cracks

There is a voice that’s very clear
Talking to me on the verge of freedom
Its sound is warm and reassuring
Stating simple obvious facts
But danger lies within such sentiments
Fear and anger have no place
Like,
Walking on the cracks in the pavement.

Cracks in the paint doesn't mean the wall is about to collapse.

The littlest cracks bring us back,
To the places we hide within.

The knack we have for baring all we have,
And we wait for nothing in return.

Plant the flag upon our minuscule mountaintop,
Just for the wind to blow it over,
So we can practice picking it up again.

Our glass-paned hearts shatter overnight,
Thinking of the ones who we don't think think of us.
Only to be replaced every new day morning.

The mesmerizing memories pull us into the dancing trances that we couldn't bear to escape.
The fates laugh their little hearts out,
At our struggles and our lives.

But,
With every rising of the sun comes new chances to prove them wrong.
Pain fades just like that summer scar.
It never really goes away,
But becomes easier to forget.

Hang on.
Fragile hearts just so happen to be the strongest ones we have, and while they keep breaking,
We are the Olympians at gluing our lovely hearts back together again.

~Robert van Lingen

Plumbers who've never had to fix a pipe,
Won't be very good at their job.

Hearts that have never been broken,
Don't really know how to love.

I swim in the dark space
between the stars and dust
trying to find the hidden grace
to choose is hard but you must

it's difficult without your shoes
to step on the broken fragments
of the shattered stars and planets

some of them shine bright
while others hide from the light
as the newborn flowers
which blossom at daylight
and close in the silence of night

cracks are in the universe
where flowers squeeze through
the seeds of the soul immerse
themselves in cosmos blue

and I wait until the ice melts
and gather the flowers in dust
to make them blossom in august

Broken can never be mended, it will always have cracks. Always!