BROKEN POEM

BROKEN POEM


Zelda Fitzgerald once said
"Nobody has ever measured,
                    not even poets,
how much the heart can hold."
But sometimes when the heart becomes weary
after the dance of so much benign neglect,

a secret locked in a room of stale promises
shatters like seven years bad luck,
escapes, mercurial. Leaving us wanting.
The things we envisioned,
the life we might have lived.
Banking on a future that will never come.
Instead, we square off, like duelists at dawn
taking measured steps, as if numanistics
could save us from ourselves and each other
laying blame in the dark attic of the self.

4/12/2013

BROKE POEM