By Brian Ernest Brown
I've always known
I'll die of a broken heart
Shattered like glass
It was preventable and yet inevitable
Only thing worse
Than a fate such as this
Is most assuredly
Living with a beating broken heart
The Glassblower's Heart
By Sarah E. Skwire
It is not stable. It has never been.
It's fifteen thousand brittle, jagged shards
Which impersonate a whole. Innately marred,
It could explode at any time--just when
You least expect it, like as not.
The threat of loss and injury is all too real.
You have to heat it. You have to anneal
The work you've made.
If you don't you might get
By for days or weeks, but destruction looms
Unavoidably. Make the choice yourself--
Place it in the fire. Leave it on the shelf.
Cause pain and save it, or spare it for doom.
I am not stable. I am not entire.
Heal me. Anneal me. Thrust me in the fire.