Clumsy Hands And Brittle Things

Clumsy Hands And Brittle Things short poem

Photo by Yuya Tamai

I have solely turned this creation into mess,
becoming a cause for frustration and moments of distress,
resulting from price tags and use of over-inked cheques,
and also from partaking in acts of repeated carelessness,

It’s safe to say that ,
I’ve been stuck in the cycle of relentless regret,
a feeling that’s often much harder to repress,
and just like the sound of a tune on broken tape,
a glass pot goes down to make way for another.

There ain’t no pride in all this subdued shamelessness,
not when it fell from the roof of a fleeting consciousness,
only to leave back the deeds of unflinching casualness,
but its all done now although not at all for the best

It’s safe to say that ,
I’ve been stuck in the cycle of relentless regret,
a feeling that’s often much harder to repress,
and just like the sound of a tune on damaged tape.
a glass vase goes down to make way for familiar.

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