Art of Broken Pieces

Child of mine,
You of the lithe body
And swift feet,
I wanted to save you
From these deaths of potential
From these experiences of adulthood
That should not be for you – yet.

Now it seems too late.

Trapped in the snare
Of choices poorly made,
The demons come with glee
To suck away your youth
And trip your dancing feet.
You were a work of art
To stir their jealousy.

A smashed jar cannot be filled.

My child
You know I’d willingly
Pick up the shards of soul,
To help restore.
‘T would be crudely done.
But there is one who waits
Who with his art of broken pieces, recreates.

A vessel fashioned by his hands,
Dropped in the roughness of life,
Will not be broken again.