I Am The Broken Mirror

Broken Mirror

What am I?
But a broken piece of glass
Spread across the floor
Smashed yes,
But not shattered yet,
Sprawling like a mirage
In the desert of time
Moving along the shadows
Of the sun and sand dunes
Cast by shades and inclinations of palm trees,
In the vast seas of humanity
Lying nude in the arms of wanton time,
Unknown

Once a ram rod of iron wrought,
Fierce hot and molten,
Now a spring or leash of steel,
Shaken by the master
Totally compressed as a piece of string
But yet without dismay,
I travel the day
From morn to eve,
As a shadow of some being,
Twas once I
Now a simple follower,
Like a liquid that takes the form
Of the mould,
A broken glass of beer, or champagne,
Upon whose lips once was laid a toast,
Not then broken as a mirror
Now on the carpet left to roast.

Place me upon a sheet of wet clay
Join me piece by piece,
I shall resurrect again,
Once again, you will see,
The reflection of time and the life
Twas me

I had been once the mirror of time,
In the distant past,
Now I’m simply a broken glass,
Waiting for the Thursday garbage van
To be finally cast