Fragility short poem

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A piece of glass shattered distorted on the floor
A form no longer but pieces of what was once before
A person would be dead if he broke but you wouldn’t be sure
A slow process of gathering information to find a cure
Just throw him on the fire and we can make him right like glass molded to procure
But people don’t work that way they break inside and you can’t fix them anymore.

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Peter Kiggin

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I am a poet through and through and anyone that tells you different you must deny it and slap them across the face very roughly indeed. I love the normal things in life and turning them into mysterious meaningful emotionally attached fascinating object or subjects.
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1 Comment on "Fragility"

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Yes I see what you mean, but yes I have a but, to live we must continually mould ourselfs or we would be stuck in a time warp. That is sad, the process of remoulding takes longer than glass but heat which burns also.
I liked your poem but made me think —how many times have I felt the burn.