The Broken Man – A Poem

He gave me a gift.

I was expecting a ring,

something to symbolize

the bond that was between us.

What I got instead was

a pack of tarot cards.

They had names I had

never seen before.

Instead of normal cards

like the Lovers or the Heirophant,

the Fool or the Tower,

there were cards like

the Lost Soul, the Forgotten One

and The Broken Man.

“That’s you.” He said.

He pointed to The Broken Man.

“That’s you as you are now.”

The card depicted a man

made of glass. His feet

and legs were shatters of glass,

littering the ground like

diamonds turned to dust.

His face was a mask of pain,

whether internal or external

I did not know.

I didn’t feel broken inside,

though I was approaching

that eventuality.

I didn’t want to be

The Broken Man. I felt like

The Gingerbread Man, my

breakable legs one step away

from being cookie crumbs.

I took the cards up to a cliff.

It overlooked the whole world

and I could see the land

stretching in front of me.

I could feel the world behind me.

I stood on a precipice,

my life before and

my life after. I only had to choose.

I raised my hand holding the cards

to the wind and let it take

the cards from my hand.

As they swirled away,

flying out of my hand,

I saw The Broken Man.

Instead of pain on his face,

he was smiling.

As the cards flew from my grasp,

I knew I had made

the right decision.

I was the Broken Man

no longer