We are careless
Too many things are broken
pictures, notes, people.
We break our word - rarely
hyphenating an excuse
pieces of the truth.
Dreams lie scattered in dirt
sharded by ‘I don’t think’
a voice out of harmony
cubes in a landscape.
We are careless and things break.
We carry things with us like an empty
violin case – useless to anything except
the violin. Grandmother’s bequeathed
jewellery which will never be worn, but it
might be worth something to someone
some day. Old faded, crack-folded too
often reread love letters to remember
and constantly hold out false hope.
We straddle longing’s stringless cello that
resonates only with a knock on wood,
and beat the heart’s broken-skinned drum
sending unwanted messages nowhere.
Jane Oliver is an editor at The Mindful Word. Find out more about her poetry by visiting her website http://www.alwaysstandingonmyhead.com/poetry.htm