I once had a jar I loved and kept
Whole and smooth
Innocent curves cold to the touch
A piece of modest beauty
Functional and fey
I smashed it
It made the point
In jagged brown and grey
Lots of points and shards
Under the merciless hammer of my anger.
Was that the end of beauty?
Cold stone cut fine and shaped
Once useful and pleasing
Now smashed in awkward pieces
Falling through fingers.
What a waste.
But as I wept
A brother's careful hands took each piece
Assembled and connect
The art of love
Worked whilst I slept
The jar made whole in every part
Mended the shards of my broken heart.
Sorrow may endure for the night
But joy comes with the morning
Joe Morriss
January 2018
