Fragments of a once whole,
now scattered,
lost pieces in the dust,
they lie, remnants of dreams
once vivid, now faded to whispers.
A mirror shatters,
each shard reflecting
a distorted memory,
a glimmer of what was,
a life unraveled
into a mosaic of pain.
Echoes of laughter
reverberate in empty rooms,
a haunting reminder
of warmth now absent,
where shadows dance
to a song of solitude,
each note a reminder
of joy turned to sorrow.
Hands reach out,
grasping at air,
fingers tracing the outline
of invisible scars,
etchings of battles fought
and loves lost
on the canvas of the soul.
Time marches on,
indifferent to the wreckage,
its relentless pace
grinds even the strongest stone
to sand,
erasing traces of what once stood,
majestic and proud,
now humbled by the passage
of indifferent years.
In the silence,
between the heartbeats,
lies the truth—
broken does not mean
unmendable,
only changed,
each crack a testament
to resilience,
each break a new path
toward understanding.
Amidst the ruins,
seeds of renewal
take root,
sprouting tendrils of hope,
green against the gray,
promising that from the ashes,
something new will rise,
not the same as before,
but beautiful in its own way.
The heart, though fractured,
beats with a stubborn rhythm,
defying the weight
of its own despair,
finding strength in the act
of carrying on,
in the simple truth
that to be broken
is to be human,
to live is to embrace
the cracks and the seams,
to find light in the spaces
where darkness once dwelled.
So, in the quiet moments,
when the world seems too heavy
and the burden too great,
remember this:
broken is not the end,
but a beginning,
a chance to rebuild,
to reshape,
to rediscover the beauty
in being whole
once more.