Mosaic of Splinters

I am glass—
fractured by yesterday’s storm,
the metallic scent of splintered silence
lingering in the corners of my soul.
Day by day, piece by piece,
fragments of me skitter across life’s floor.
Some shards glint in broad daylight;
others whisper darkness in hidden hollows.
You reach for the largest one—
its edges obvious, heavy with memory.
But it’s the tiniest sliver
that gleams beneath your skin later,
an unseen barbed note
that draws a quiver of long‑buried ache.
Day by day, piece by piece.
Time furls like a blade—
I learn how some wounds
settle in stillness,
then break free unannounced,
aching, raw, reborn.
I am the mosaic of my own making:
bright facets that catch
the first raindrop’s dance,
ugly fragments that glitter
in quiet confession,
and the proud, oversized mirror
that throws rainbows across the dusk.
If you can’t see beauty
in every glint and groove,
you were never worthy
of holding even one.
And now I cradle my own aurora—
a shard holding a single raindrop,
refracting the dawn of all tomorrows.