Poem: Broken Glass

I had the idea for a poem about a week ago or so and this is what came of it. By request, I am posting it here:


Crooked lines that flow and crack like glass,
sharp edges chiseled into a perfect pattern.
Were these just my lines,
or were they everyone's lines?


Once the glass is broken,
pieces are scattered in disarray.
Moments lie as delicate fragments,
and no one looks at them the way I do.


These pieces are my life.
How do I let go without losing one?
How do I put the pieces back together,
and make the cracks disappear?


Blood drips from my hands
in my attempt to save the broken glass.
Maybe glass is too fragile,
and maybe my hands weren't meant to mend this kind of break.


It seems there are more questions than answers.
But maybe only the hands that have truly bled,
only the hands that have truly mended,
maybe only these hands can truly fix the fragile broken glass.
Only His hands can fill the cracks.