The slightest shiver and it was free,
from the abundance of its beauty and charm.
With a crying soul, it sped lower and lower,
and broke the tall glass with a pitched crash.
Shattered the pieces each to a different destination,
together they shined and glistened on the rough floor.
With blindening sheen as a last sign of self-defiance,
partly in dust yet the courage to hurt any mocking soul.
The breaking lent a soulful song, a faint quiver,
across any kind mind who spared a moment.
A song of pain, a note of longingness
to be itself again, demanding a right to living.
Yet the fragile thing had had its living,
gathered will it be in a few fleeting seconds
To be thrown into the lot of discarded,
from dust it had come and to dust it will return.
