My Stained Glass Window

[I have always known what was going on. I have always understood. A memory. From Thursday, 11 November 2010. Less than three weeks after everything that was had come to an end.

Mark.]
I’ve been walking
Through the remains
Of who I was.
The me that shattered.
Like a plate of glass.
When a brick hits it.

Little shards of glass,
Fragments of who I was.
Scattered.
Everywhere.
And like that shattered glass,
All the kings horses
And all the kings men
Can never put who I was
Back together again.

As I’ve said all along.
I will never be the same.

But as I wander
Through the remains
Of the life that was
I find things of value
Here and there.
That I don’t want to lose.

But you can’t put shards of glass
Into a new glass plate,
Can you.

Shards of glass are used
In stained glass windows
Don’t you know.
Works of art
That they become
Made for nothing but
Tiny bits of colored
Broken
Glass.

And as I walk along,
Through the shards of glass
That are all that remain
Of who I used to be.
I understand what it is
That I will become.

For I will collect
Shards of glass
From what I used to be.
And sculpt them
Carefully.

And I’ll stain
Each and every shard.
In the colors
I want them to be.

Day by day,
And step by step,
I’ll find new shards of glass.
For the parts of the new me
That I’m going to someday be.

And I’ll take all the parts,
Both the old ones
And the new.
And working carefully,
And patiently,
Like an artist would,
Making stained glass art.

I will put together
A new
Stained glass
Me.

And that stained glass me,
Will be more beautiful
That any plate glass window
Can every be.

And more beautiful
Than the former me.

It will take time,
I know.
But isn’t it so true
That anything worth doing
Just takes time
To do?

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