Shards

Short poem 2.

Shards

Falling, like frosted glass.

Each fragment, a clue,

each shard, a puzzle piece,

portraying your life before the needle

 slowly sucked it away.

Back, when you laughed like a lory at sunrise,

leaped purposefully like a gazelle on thatch.

Back, before you strayed down the crooked road

the illusion of freedom provides.

Let’s glue these pieces back together.

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