BREAK LIKE GLASS

So frayed and tattered is the memory's veil
after being woven with countless threads of expired years
that one tries to restring upon the mind's recollection loom
without getting a rash
from the biting fabric of shed tears.

Gazing inward through our orbed windows
towards the soul's dark and sacred vault
brings one face to face
upon that distorted looking glass from the past
when we don the shimmering dress of excuse laced hues
seeking comfort in our ill fitting self-image costume
by uttering a monologue of justified esteem pontification
spoken while meandering
between the aisles of conformity and truth.

Suspending our life's tales upon a guilt free wire
like washed laundry hung out to dry
we hastily erect the emotion survival shelters of transparency,
hiding behind the shear curtains of secrets
till some hail stone of failures shatters our illusions.

Peering out our fractured ego panes
fogged by fantasia's esteem etching
thinking they were somehow invincible
and being totally unprepared
for how they easily
break like glass.