Broken Dreams

shattered pieces of glass next to a building

Shattered hopes
Shattered dreams
What once was a future
Now lies broken on the sidewalk
Swept aside by time
Yet each piece
Cuts as deep as the first day
The ache and the pain
Of seeing others fulfill their dreams

Shattered hopes
Shattered dreams
Once was one future
Lies broken on the sidewalk
Once was one dream
Now becomes another
The whole that was broken
Now becomes something else

What was once broken parts
Now become elements of something new
Each piece changes and become something else
A new design from the broken parts

Shattered Hopes
Shattered Dreams
They can lay in the dust
Broken reminders
Or they can become something new
Something better something else
An end of one dream
Does not end all dreams

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Broken Wings

Crushed, splintered
Torn and ruined

Wings bent and broken
I look upon the heavens
Unable to reach them
With these damage wings

Crushed soul
A hollow husk

Forced to walk this world
With broken wings
Unable to reach the heavens

I walked forward
With head bent down

Learning to live
Finding my way on this earth
Walking instead of flying

The sky above
Trapped below

I look upon the heavens
I stretched my damage wings
And found in time my wings had healed

Living life
Walking forward

My wings outstretched
Hope once more within
I leap into the air

To fly once more
With mended wings

Fallen Beauty

orange leaf beyond a cage
A broken leaf holds the beauty of time

Why is it that we see the broken things just that—broken. Things to be thrown away and forgotten. Things to be replaced with brand new and undamaged versions. But what if they still had beauty?

What if their beauty came from their damages?

Have you ever seen the sun rise through the broken shards of colored glass? Have you watched the morning dew sit on a fallen log?

Or watch a leaf crumble and break when it strikes the ground.

I look at the world around me and I see broken beauty everywhere.

In the old and ancient buildings I see the broken glass and bleached walls. In the ancient car that creaks and rumbles pass. I see it in the old dog that limps along.

But most of all, I see it in the people that pas by, I see the pain and hurt in the people who walk past me. Each one has a story to tell and hurts carried on their shoulders.

Their eyes are filled with unspoken words. You can tell as their sight looks beyond the present and into their minds that something is weighing on his mind.

Could it be that their pain and past has given them wisdom?

It reminds me of a sculptor and his statue. The sculptor scrapes away and carves away the stone to reveal what is within. Each strike is damaging the stone but the strike also creates the statue within.

You are not damaged beyond repair.

You are a hidden treasure.