Sparkatale

I can't help but look at the crystal
Of glass that's on the floor
And I see my reflection in every one
But that's not where I should be.

This picture was rested on a cherished
Spot upon my wall. And I would stare
Endlessly into its colors and become
A part of that story.

But then I brought it down.
A violent strike with an item thrown
From my angry hand... I couldn't bear
To see what was merely a tainted illusion...

The glass exploded all around it
But the colors and people inside
Remained intact. I was waiting for
Them to shatter, too.

Sad how they would refuse to break
And refuse to come apart.
Perhaps I still hold on too tightly
To the destroyed story on my floor.