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Rated: E · Poetry · Spiritual · #1815026
Loss of meaningful entity in life.
BROKEN  GLASS
In a galactic moment, for we are all life's little stars, life shatters.
Just like broken glass.
In sentient faith, before the crystalline storm, we expansively,
luxuriously, owned a whole, unmarred squeaky clean,
transparent pane of glass that we saw life through.
Freshly washed. Clearly viewed.
Others could look back at us through this colorless
translucence and see who we were too.
With or without notice, the sparkling scene shatters.
We no longer see our known existence, who we fully are.
Just a little random glimpse between the radiating broken cracks.
Not enough to foresee what is on the other side.
This new rescinded, frangible and thread-like  view  of life
will have to do for the present, the interlude, the interim.
Until.
In divine revelation, we look down.
There we see an array of luminous fallen shards surrounding us.
Splintered. Fractured. Pieces of Grace.
With loving inspection, we see  delicate slivers within this jagged debris
that are iridescent, glowing, inviting us to pick them up.
We do.
We put them in our pockets.
Far richer for the glow, we go on our way,
keeping these exquisite pieces,
shining spaces filled with grace,
loving traces of our past glass life,
in a cherished and sacred place.

Theodora Richmond
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