Like a handprint in cementAn indelible mark has been leftMy identity has been bentAt the point where your fingers pressed.Some people leave their marksAll over your identity;Some leave beautiful artAnd others graffiti obscenities.

Fate is the cruelest of masters, takingLife when it pleases or at random, handingRigged decks to whom it pleases, cheatingAll alike and none the wiser, takingEverything away from those with nothing.

As joy dwindles with the yearsI wistfully recallWhen the christmas treeLooked ten feet tallAnd the presents under itSeemed endless And more Than mere wrapping paper.

I wish I could see butterflies burst from cocoonsWithout tempering my amazementKnowing all beauty eventually dies.

Sleepless nightsSpent looking at the ceilingSearching in those etched patternsFor some sort of adhesiveTo glue together the broken piecesOf a soul crushedBy the weight of the fact thatLife is profoundly sad.