My mosaic - a poem

I don’t know whether to
Glue it back together
Or let it fall apart.
Some people say
There is beauty
In a fixed vessel
All the cracks filled
Ready to overflow
With the blood
Of the maker
A sign of caring
For each piece
Cutting flesh
To return the bowl
To a mosaic
So carefully laid out
I am the maker
Many times in my mind
Are thoughts of
Leaving

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Your poems are pretty thoughtful.

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