Broken Art

"more please," an agitated voice begged.

wuh-PSSSH! whip-crackings echoed, accompanied

by a voice filled with hurt. he had risen,

the beast had risen. children hid under

their mother's bosom, a river of fear drowning

their wails. the beast had started again,

who was next? three words clouded every mind.

and she was there, just like before—

he was there, a haunting presence from her past.

once again, she voluntarily handed her soul to him,

yet again, he savored her fear, her insecurity.

and like before, greater than before,

she grew tired, tired of fighting.

willingly, she allowed him to devour her,

every bit and piece of her.

finished, he dropped her flimsy piece

where she wanted, a vault. she felt weak,

inferior. different pieces with different streaks,

remnants of what was once a whole, lay littered

on a cold, hard floor.

the gaffer tried to mend her, to put the pieces back together,

but his efforts were in vain. after a few more tries,

he realized a crucial piece was missing. he went back

in search of the missing piece,

the four dejected walls welcoming the warmth he had brought in.

then he searched for the last piece,

but it seemed to be hidden. the gaffer's energy

was gradually draining, yet he stood his ground,

never giving up. alas! he found the piece at the end of the room.

in a frenzy, he grabbed the piece,

flinching when his fingers met the cold floor.

he was overjoyed, but failed to notice

the piece had pricked his thumb. red liquid colored

his flesh, and he dropped the piece.

the sound of the shattered piece rang in his ears,

tiny fragments lay in a pool of their own misery.

hot streams of tears ran down his face;

he had failed, again. and then, he thought,

"maybe it's better this way." with that,

he turned his back on the pieces, and scurried

for the metal bar. with one hand on the knob,

he glanced at the scattered fragments once more.

reluctantly, he left after his goodbye.

days passed, long, endless days.

guilt and regret consumed him, surges

of remorse blanketing his soul. the gaffer,

a dignified man, returned to the room,

determined to finish what he had started.

unbeknownst to him, the door had been locked.

he wept bitterly in realization, blaming

himself for his failure. he had so many regrets,

so many "if only's."

if only he had left the door ajar,

if only he was more determined

if only he had mustered more strength.

if only he had seen the beauty in her cold bars.

his wishes left an eerie silence,

the unasked question hanging in the air:

what if the glass never wanted to be fixed?

he didn't know some things can never be fixed—

when their fire is extinguished.