Brittled

Brittled

It was the year everything turned to glass

And my existence was likewise a brittle thing
Similar to so many of those iced over branches
Shimmering in morning's starlight
Each bearing an all too familair burden
Ready to snap upon a moment's notice
Becoming unwritten in the tangible script of
What Might Have Happened That Now Never Will
Thrust into tailor made translucent prisons
Watching the world unravel through distorted lenses
While time marched on slowly,
Slowly
Hushed into silent prayers for release
Awaiting the Sun to enact its role as Savior
So forcibly stilled were they

That I myself almost shattered

In the year everything was turned to glass