Promises Promises Poem by Dean Bottomley

Dreams, the precious glass of life
Sparkling, clean, fragile, beautiful;
Through which the world looks much kinder,
Holding in shinning glory a silver lining.
A promise of what can be:
A hope of joy to come:
A glimpse of aspirations realised.

But fragile glass is so easily broken,
Beauty now lying in a thousand shards.
The glory gone, unable to repair,
To piece together that which once was precious.
Broken glass is sharp,
Cuts deep and raises blood.
Searing wounding hurt
A shinning promise now a source of pain.