Does the act of breaking glass
really satisfy the need
to unleash an imprisoned anger?
The suffocating rage
shapes the fists into impressive hammers,
knocking down everything within reach
until all the jagged shards of glass
haphazardly fall to the ground.
One hopes, in his frantic state,
that the rage has been transformed
into something else¯
something less dangerous,
like the molten earth from deep within
being converted into useful electricity.
But eventually,
all these attempts to destroy
and thus forget are useless.
Because all the scattered pieces of glass
will only forcefully remind us
that breaking things
doesn’t necesasrily make them disappear.
They still remain embedded
in the deep swamp of memory.
