Only one thing to do - make glass beads. Lots of them. Beauty out of discarded trash.
How did you fall out of love with me?
Broken dreams, shards beneath my feet.
Razor's edge leaves bloody soul
prints in empty, ghost-filled
rooms. I've been replaced
with another,
already?
Going,
Gone.
About the Creator
Meredith Harmon
Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.
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Comments (2)
Very sad and poignant, great job!
This was so heartbreaking. Loved your poem!