November 16, 2007 | By | Add a Comment

That dish fell right out of my hands;
It hit the floor and shattered

Once it left my fingertips, I knew it was over
Things would never be the same

I let go instead of holding tight
Now, I hold tight instead of letting go

I pick up the few remaining pieces
And remember the way things used to be

One day, everything will be restored.
This wasn’t supposed to happen

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Category: Poetry

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