Birthed in anguish
the love season gone sour
               a smooth transition to a troubled end
the pot of gold
               abandoned by the rainbow.

The cauldron of unbreakable resolve
               sculpted into a ceramic life
                              made fragile
               only able to find peace
as broken shards, glittering once again.

The hammer apologizes,
               “I’m not usually involved,”
We answer in fractured colors,
               “do you think in words?”
silence on a blank page.
               They keep their thoughts to themselves.