Just a Shard

Gentle whispers raining upon
blood-rushed ears,
Sprinkling sand,
Grating ever so softly,
Behind locked doors,
Slight and gentle,
She smiles and says,

"It's just a splinter, my love,
A piece of the puzzle which
Love skips across the tide,
Ebbing and flowing."

Against the force of time,
Time, well-timed cuts,
Scabs like pin-pricks hiding
beneath her work dress,
His words draining the
colour of life from her
rosy cheeks.
He smiles and says,

"It's just some shards, my love,
A discrepency which
Love throws across the tide,
Ebbing and flowing."

Razor words bleeding this
disease dry, splattering
across the white dry-wall
of their child's doors,
Heightened voices tinged
scarlet, against their will,
infecting the tears of their
child's, sobbing crimson.
They smile say,

"It's shrapnel, my love,
A bomb in the war which
Love rips across the tide,
Ebbing and flowing."

Shrieks render ears silent,
Shots of malcontent sadism,
Scabs slit through just
So they can see each other bleed,
Shattering of his patience
and her vases,
To the sound of a broken childhood,
Entering her child's room,
She cries and says,

"It's glass, my love,
Fragile and broken which
Love holds over the tide,
Ebbing and flowing,
And lets go."