Mosaic: A Poem on Brokenness and Healing | Thursday Verse No. 7

  Healing is never linear. Some wounds close while others open, and the healing touch itself can both mend or leave a mark of its own. Mosaic is a poem that lingers in that paradox of being broken and mended. 

Mosaic

Digital illustration by Mercy Rebonica.

Lifting me up

from withering into dust,

Your healing fingers touch my cuts,

only to complain that I leave you with wounds.

The pain, I know, is profound,

The sight of your blood painting the floor and the healing phase that puts you behind your door 

lands me

There on the floor,

lying cold and lone —

bruised and bleeding shard,

turning dust.

What do you expect from and for a tiny, broken piece of glass?


- Mercy Rebonica

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