Like all good omens,
once is not enough
my world had to go and break
twice.
The first time, I chalked it up to
human error and blatant disregard.
Still, I bought my super glue
pasted the pieces back together
laid my spinning orb back upon its mantle,
dusted my hands off, patted myself on the back,
and returned to my usual ways.
This time around, however, my world fell and broke upon my hard head
shards of sharp glass rained down upon my dense cap
as I stirred in an afternoon slumber.
"Your world is broken,"
it calls from some ancient, distant time,
demanding my attention, forcing my hand,
screaming in my direction.
The bump on my head now does not allow for
a denial of its call.
My world is broken.
Like me, the damage feels irreparable.
Forever seared by needless suffering,
it can not be righted, no magic wand can be waved
to bring it back to what was once its vibrant state
of pure wholeness.
My world is broken.
Innocence gone and what remains
is a static repose, hungry in its eagerness to replace what once was
yet never satisfied with its filling.
My world is broken.
Never to be the same,
my world is broken.
Where do I grow from here?
My world is broken.
