A Broken Glass

They are the fragments
that consume attention; mocking
quite effectively the whole,
which stands the martyr
in exhausting innocence, waiting
for the drama to begin.  Oh my dear,
how appropriate a symbol for a life.

Completeness just a launching pad
for an eternity (or so it seems)
of epic entropy.
Your choice, good sir!

For myself, I'll take the pieces--
all of them. Glistering before my eyes,
they summon to the light
everything I do not know, but yet
most stubbornly still entertain--
and there's the glory, isn't it?

A world out there, and more
awaits beyond, that eyes shall never see.

It is perfection we are dealing with,
or something that imagination
finds inadequate, and if that
does not stagger you,
our worlds do not communicate.

I choose the light,
the warfare in my soul.
It is in the body I discard
where peace enjoys its fragile reign.
In all eternity, my broken glass
gives off its multiplicity of rays
to quench our hunger, thirst and blindness--
for in that most quixotic splendor,
all humankind is blessed.
      ~

Reviews

[Lydia Shutter]

The whole is equal to the sum of its parts and each shard of glass is important...each one stands for something and can not be casually discarded. Yes, there are things out there we do not know and may never know, but we can reach for them...stretch our consciousness. We are blessed in that we have the intelligence to learn...we have the hunger to experiment and gain knowledge. Hopefully that will never end. The imagery and metaphor in this poem drew me in. Well written. Lydi**

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

This reminds me of something that Rumi wrote:

"It's the old rule that drunks
have to argue
and get into fights.
The lover is just as bad:
he falls into a hole.
But down in that hole he finds
something shining,
worth more than any amount
of money or power.
Last night the moon came
dropping her clothes
in the street.
I took it as a sign to start singing,
falling up into the bowl of sky.
The bowl breaks.
Everywhere is falling everywhere.

Nothing else to do.

Here's the
new rule: break
the wineglass,
and fall toward
the glassblower's breath."

I see that glass as the moon in the sky, holding its volume in one space, bordered in by the edges. If shattered, however, it disperses like stars covering the entire breadth of sky.

There is definite beauty in brokenness, in pieces; for therein, we can be whole.

[Dean]

Good conclusion (yours, not Rumi's, I infer)

Rumi sounds quite up to date for the 13th Century!