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Broken
by Max BouilletPorcelain shards from
a broken doll face;
blood drips from
tiny fingers that
grow into aged hands.
Trembling they still
feel the pierced flesh
and the tears that trickle
far from god, later
another doll shatters.
This one flesh,
no blood to show the wound...
just empty prescription bottles,
another drunken stranger,
discarded clothes
and the prayer that
maybe this one has some
glue. 05/30/2003 Author's Note: Thanks for pointing out the problem, David!
Posted on 05/31/2003
Copyright © 2024 Max Bouillet
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Rommel Cruz on 05/31/03 at 02:26 PM i remember voting for this in the application. welcome to pps... now off to business. aren't we all porcelain dolls? broken at one time or the other, glued later on in life. nice poem |
| Posted by Jean Mollett on 08/15/03 at 06:21 AM Hi Max,
Broken. Good one. Yes, at times we go thru life and things doesn't work out. Things seems to go wrong, you feel so emotional. Everything seems not ever to be repaired, just broken forever. Don't give up hope. Ya may not need the glue afterall. Putting postive thoughts in there helps, instead of so much negative thoughts. Prayers also help too. |
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