Mourning the Broken Glass | A poem

A crash that echoes through the house.

You stop, head full of thoughts, one

being what you do next, the rest a mixture of

anger, sadness and that feeling you get

when you do something and you know

you should have been more careful.

And although you broke it accidentally,

you will never get it back, that broken

figure that once stood before you. A part

of your life, cracked and bruised, like the

glass below you. You stand there

for a few more seconds, but it seems

like hours, knowing you should pay

your respects and

mourn the broken glass.

Stay happy,

Katie