Shattered Art

I cherish the times
When broken things look beautiful.
Rare are they,
But beauteous can be the pitiful.

A hand to hold no longer there,
A weeping heart lost to its pair.
They cry in silent voices
As the light begins to blare.

Shards of glass are miserable
Next to jeweled ware.
But, they may be shimmering crystals
To those wallowing in despair.

Tears are like a raging river,
Gushing to the sound of the woeful.
Painting a picture of broken things
Entitled "Beautifully pitiful".