A Looking Glass

A fumbling hand strikes a glass,

Falling, shattering, breaking

Into pieces ten thousands

That lay dead on the floor;

Like a broken dream

I lie like a corpse in a deep slumber.

Hope I could have survived

This tragedy, loss and suffering

That has occurred to the world;

That lies in the nadir of pain, desolation

And whose wretchedness

Has spared no being - worthy or kind.

These moments have scarred

My heart, my soul, my self

And I see how cracks have appeared

Through which agony has found

Its course in the abyss of my conscience

Tearing and breaking me.

Like the glass pieces on the floor

That is sharp yet futile

And has no form or structure;

Separated, isolated and sequestered

Self, A face – broken and ruined

Is what I see in the glass.