I was a mosaic collected
in scratched nails
imbedded, bleeding
like I was meant to be touched
but can you really grasp a reflection..
How could you identify what
I see, within the fallen feathers
of a crows smiles.
I'm hidden within,
a pile of dead bones wishing to fly again.
I could walk within the footsteps of those
in front of me on calm sands.
But I choose to run on
a beach of shattered shells, this is life!
broken dreams never really washing away.
I see smiles kept aloft by matchsticks,
ready to ignite.
Within there embers embracing the true
reflection of how I see others.
Parched realties of never really loving you
or another for the failures of there integrity.
I could love,
in blindness.
But what is seen is nothingness..
I could love,
in thought.
But memories will always lie to oneself.
I could have love,
in myself.
But nothing ever comes from that..
Until I realize that I'm not in control
of this collage of moments.
I'm a Paper-Mache,
randomly collecting on a frame work
of contemplation, that I will only
see on the completion of my life.
I'm but a part that I thought was
irrelevant, immaterial.
But I'm just a piece of life collecting on
the shattered shells slowly reforming to
realize there is more to life than sandy shores.