The Shattered Pattern

The coffee mug, a simple thing,

used to morning.

But anger bloomed, a sudden sting,

and words were burning.

I saw the wall, the painted plaster,

a target clear.

My arm drew back, moved faster, faster,

then struck with fear.

It shattered loud, a sharp report,

a violent sound.

Then silence fell, cut short, cut short,

on broken ground.

The pieces lay, a sharp regret,

a stain of blue.

A thing I did, I can't forget,

and hated, too.