Not enough glue

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I want to climb into the mirror 
that is a life, cracked by two much living.

           Collect there all the pieces lost 
in skewed lines, like spider webs of 
woven time.

Segmented with edges close 
but off kilter, to many pieces of a ghost 
that float, 

             out of sync and out of line. 
Out of harmony and out of time. 

I fear that I will find, to much skin 
and to much bone to much blood 
to make me whole. 
                                  And what of heart 
and what of soul. Bees flown and blown 
             off course lost to wind and wave 
or used up by life.

Whats left was tossed and sliced 
thin 
       on words with jagged edges
or pierced on arrows deep 
                                              skewered
to stone and clay and waves 
all washed away. 
                      To far gone to resuscitate.  
Its all too little far too late.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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