This poem is written in empathy. I have never used crack.

CRACKED GLASS

Dark grey clouds that have always been,
Thunderously crash and then start to spin.

Concrete splits as the earth quakes.
A crack house shakes and a window breaks.

Shards of window slice as they pass.
My leg was speared by a jagged cracked glass.

I stare at my cammo, soaked in blood.
Greens, turned to red, gateway to flood.

I remember what the doctor said on TV.
“If you are stabbed by something leave it in for me.”

I heeded his advice and stood up.
The pain was so wretched, I nearly threw up.

The cracked glass tares my muscle when I try to walk.
But, if I remove it, the damage will leave me laying lined in chalk.

Dilemma:

If I leave the cracked glass in my leg I will never make it to the facility.
If I remove it I can walk, bit I will die before reaching a remedy.

I grab the cracked glass and yank it from my femur.
Staring at my laceration, My God! What a gusher!

I had little time to waste so I headed for the treatment.
Made it a couple blocks and collapsed on the pavement.

The front steps to an inner city Catholic church.
Blood soaked the ground, I sweat, shake, and lurch.

My journey was cut short, before this house of God.
Lying on the ground like a limp slab of sod.

I pray for mercy, for giving in to temptation.
Dying in front of a church, like some sort of demonstration.

I still have the piece of cracked glass.
I could stick it back in and let more time pass.

I chose to leave it out and quickly decease.
So I may live out eternity in the land of eternal peace.

Suddenly! A nun runs out and comes to my aid.
Caring not for insurance papers, only the price I’ve already paid.

She lays me on a bench and wraps up my stabbing.
Rolls it up with care and a little extra padding.

She said. “Son, your body is now free.
But your soul is not so listen to me.”

I cut her off! I say, “How wrong you are.
This concept may appear a little bizarre.

The damage that is done will cripple me for life.
Sliced by the jagged edge of a beat up rusty knife.

My pain will throb with every beat of my heart.
My brain will scream as it tares me apart.

To miss something that you can find on every corner.
To crave the very thing that made me a mourner.”

My voice rose as I started to shout.
“A life in purgatory’s what I’m about.

My body’s imprisonment is meant to be.
With out the cracked glass, it is my soul that’s set free!”

Very Sharp.

thanks