Broken words lay scattered on the floor,
Shards of glass from the clock
Lay weeping by the door.
I opened the gate and swept all bare,
For there was no way out
With all that lying there.
Rain came and washed away the night.
I slept with heavy heart
Yet awoke with no regret.
A fresh page, unending lines,
This time the poem is all mine.
No hour leaves my sight again,
No minute wasted by the pen.
The book I write has truth for its spine
Bound and tempered beyond time,
And I shall rest here in its pages,
Without the sorrow of the ages.
Past and present are within.
Only the future begins again.