Kite

Each day I try to fly it
cast it up to catch the wind.
Each day it rises, a splash of color
against a monochrome canvas,
a plain sky.

As I fly my kite, you come.
You cut the string and send my
hope into a deranged frenzy,
bent on a Kamikaze mission
to the earth. It crashes and dies,
demoted to shards and splintered fragments
of a painting that was, and I,
I drag my way home through a haze
of tears, and sink into a coma of
apathy.

And when the new dawn
gently lifts me from my slumber
I find it waiting there, reborn,
string mended, and shards now
magically reassembled, whole.
Daring me to fly a kite
once more