Pieces Of Glass Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Pieces Of Glass

Rating: 4.4


Pieces of glass, cutting..
bloodied hands, holding.

Wrap me up in paper.

Hold me close until I die.

Evaporating symbols.

What does one believe?
What does one dream?

Dream of silence, the mystic claims.
Dream of death, the half empty glass proclaims.

Pieces of smoke, floating like
traffic lights.

Blinking on and off;
red, yellow, and green.

Stop the moonlight from coming
into the room.

What does one hold onto?
What does one believe?

Nothing.

There is nothing to light the
charcoal for. Burn the papers
of attachment.

They turn yellow and grey, grey and yellow.

Words someone wants to hear.

And the shift key believes it
can change the ships sinking
in the hateful sea
of malice.

Practice lying.

It becomes real if you can get one other person
to accept the story.


Pieces of glass, cutting..
bloodied hands, holding.

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