PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Shattered glass at my feet.
Broken promises in my hands.
I wonder
why
the
bottles
of
elixir
mingle
so
easily
with
the
falling
temperature?
Tears are an exercise
of futile hoping.
They redeem nothing.
They trickle down
the cheek
and fall like magnets
seeking attraction.
Planets roll about
the universe.
They
appear
in
the
sky
to
remind
us
we
are
not
alone.
But I am alone.
I alone live with this
damned cancer.
It returns.
The hopelessness.
It manifests itself like
a sword striking flesh.
What
is
the
point?
What purpose in the
scheme of things
does the death
of this body represent?
Family
and
friends
cluck
around
me
like
magical
chickens
dancing
on
a
stove.
It is appreciated.
It is understood.
However, I am
still the shattered glass
without a possibility
of gluing together
the painful pieces.
Day opens with a
bravely disguised whisper.
Seeking 
to
be
something
in
a
fabric
of
nothing.
Chilled ice cubes
are warmed by the
hot breath I create.
Proof that there
is
still
life
left
to
manufacture.
Call open the search
for perspective and purpose!
Sound brave in trumpets
of black and white pictures.
It
seems
a
life-time
of
experiences
still
provide
a
certain
amount
of
pleasure.
And to this, after all,
is what I am left to consider.
If
today
is 
the 
day
of
dying,
let
me
remember
to
hold
a
bouquet
of
memories.