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Fragile by Lelia Thomas

Age is a chill reminder that life is ever fragile–
Delicate as a cherry blossom carried from its limb,
Whose beauty lays pink and white upon the wind.
Like my spirit, it falls–plummeting and twirling to its end.

How fragile is this life, as thinnest violin strings.
One coarse pluck may fracture a melody.
Such is my story, the musician without her song,
Left searching in vain for the note of which I long.

The unpredictable pains of life swallow up time and melodies
And yet we take shelter beneath the wings of belief.
No matter how unwise, we avert our eyes, forgetting the before.
But what can be done? Do you say to a man of hope, “hope no more”?

Fragility, for all its meanings of weakness, is ever strong in life,
Turning beliefs into miserable lies;
Leaving all of us at the grimy altars of sacrifice,
Where neither blood nor pain nor cries shall ever suffice.

As cherry blossoms, we crash into the ground,
Colliding with broken sounds of snapped strings.
We fall, because the bridge on which we stand is frail.
It has left me in the mud, where on my lips tears trail.

Where is refuge in a life more brittle than weathered pottery?
It is not in the arpeggio, nor in the blossoms still on the limb–
Not in a lover’s arms, nor in the sea below or in the winds up high.
Fragility cannot be fought or run from, for its end shall never draw nigh.

Author’s Comments

The greatest risk one can take in life is to believe in something or someone, for it is all very fragile.