Poem: The Morning After

The sun breaks through the window pane
like so many fragmented shards of glass
lying lost and alone in a desperate attempt
to put themselves back together.

To quote, and I rarely quote,
"Either the wallpaper goes,
or I go."
And then he slipped into the eternal sleep.

I wonder sometimes what
this eternal sleep is like
if we are not but broken shards of glass
who cannot put themselves back together

and how I long to put myself back
together
funny word that, "together"
how do you put yourself back
together?

The phone rings and it starts again
this circus of fragmented personalities
this play, this farce, this chaotic mess
"all the world is a stage", after all.

Can I act out my part,
can I play it well?
Can I bring the illusion to those around me?

Or will I lose myself in this city of angels
and be taken in by the farce,
deluding myself, and losing what makes
me whole?