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Framed

Shattered,
not scattered.
A weak frame
still holds
me together.
Keeps me
from falling
to pieces
upon  the floor.
I  find
no glazier to
call to
re-install
the windows
of my brittle
heart.
Only the
heat
of love
renewed,
can repair
the broken
pieces of
a weakened
love,
not yet
fallen to
to floor.

A contest entry

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Comments


  • CarolDesjarlais silver member
    April 30, 2008
    Edit | Reply
    Love the glass metaphor...nciely done, thank you for entering it.


  • Cannonsfire
    April 29, 2008

    Edit | Reply
    Oh you can touch the sadness in this, but this kind of poem would do more with a different form to the words, perhaps some couplets (2 lines and then one powerful one on it's own and perhaps a final stanza of a three or four. Just an opinion.


    • rustynite silver member
      April 29, 2008
      Edit | Reply
      have to look at it tomorrow which is already here.
      This evening I suppose. smile. work comes early. Im yawning.
      time to go.