Thursday, December 28, 2006

Beautiful


Our existence in life
Is measured not in
Years.
But in the passing
Of fragile moments in time.

Many pieces of our
Lives contain scratches,

Chips, or streaks.
Times when you
laughed. Times
When you
Cried.

Sometimes, pieces
Don't match.

They are misplaced.
Sometimes, parts of
Our lives are
Forgotten.
Others are painfully
Remembered.

But even though
The scratches,

and the chips
are unsightly.
And there are things
That you wish you
Never did.

You cannot undo them.
Nor repair them.
They create a portrait of
You.

They are a stained glass picture
in the museum of humanity.

The flaws make us
Human.

The portrait make us
Beautiful.

-SuperStenoGirl circa 2002.

1 comment:

MT said...

hmm! And aren't stained glasses more beautiful?

Nice poem.