Confetti: Pieces of the Heart
A priceless, precious thing,
The heart – porcelain of the soul –
But only by illusion does living take its toll
In cracks and chips and shattered breaks
And fate of no control,
While truth remains,
In beats of beauty,
One organic whole.
Hence, the essence of celebration,
Holiday or not,
Is fully to live the whole,
Gaily but unbesot,
And deliberately break to pieces
All that contradicts,
Then throw as bright confetti
While the clock does waste its ticks.
– Mary Jo Magar –