Broken
Posted by restorel66 on November 10, 2009
Between us, on a tabletop of glass,
a working hand becomes a hammer.
A man wants his way.
He won’t take no.
Blood, though not spilled, boils.
Shards ring out and sing
the ways we will not mend—
how the heart, like a fractal,
repeats a pattern of breaks
and splits when magnified.
My heart rages. It pushes blood
along a crooked line of strife
until I heed the rattle-crack
and attend the bang of anger.
The embittered rackets rise until
the broken pieces lay at rest between us.
Jill Eells said
Hey love, I really like this one. The picture you chose is a great visual. I like the blood boiling line.
thunderbeard said
The picture looks like it was drawn for this. Or is it acupuncture gone horribly wrong.
This poem makes me tense when I read it. But ending it with rest between us is great. I feel it.