Poem: The Art of Broken Pieces

The Art of Broken Pieces

It has been (mumblty mumble) days since my last confession.
Not for lack of need but for fear about how long a list.
I m mindful of the time you have to give to this,
tirelessly hearing what you already know, what
you likely wondered I would get around to admitting.

I will save us the time. Since last we met
most of the big ten are safe. I got over those
when I was younger. The one about lies I do too often.
I am a poet after all.
Writing lies to create truth is our stock in trade.

But mostly, here in the entry days of old age,
my sins are smaller. More numerous perhaps,
but less impactful. More of the falling short variety
Lots of those. But you know that. You know all.
A long list. Here, I have written them down.
Easier than reciting them in a litany of errors,
And besides, I hate the sound of my own voice.

I am not such a fool as to think I am forgiven,
and like a magic wand, “Poof” – all evidence of error is gone.
No, I get it. Sins make their mark, leaves rubble in it’s trail
and forgiveness can only repair so many broken teacups,
only allow us to pick up the pieces
and put them back together. Kintsugi.
and even when we do,
sometimes they leak.

About this poem.

This was the poem I started to write yesterday. Compare the two and you’ll really wonder how I got to yesterday’s poem from this set of thoughts. I know I do. (wonder).

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of broken pieces, where they gild the broken pieces with gold as they repair them, visibly drawing attention to the brokenness as part of the art, instead of trying to disguise it.

The picture is not one of mine. It is stock art.



  1. I think the more we age, the more we reflect, and confessions are regretful reflections. but once acknowledged, we can begin to move forward. Good piece!

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