I have broken my own heart,
and sob bitter tears over the oh-so many pieces.
Like a mosaic that is ill-fitted and rough,
the gouging, grotesque shapes bare the signs of silent battle.
Only she whom I yearn for most
can smooth the jagged landscape.
Every piece carries her name,
and I must begin the work of redress.
What is ugly and broken can be refurbished,
retaining scars as a remembrance
of things finally past.