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Lying shattered and torn for so long
I try to lift these pieces and hold them up to the light.
I fail nonetheless despite my good intentions,
only being pierced by the jagged edges of my own existence.

As the blood trickles down my aching finger
the light catches a drop of blood in its magnificent luminous embrace,
and I am allowed a glance at the beauty of the reflection of the light,
dancing upon the surface of a scarlet gem
which I mistook once before for a mere drop of blood
caused by the piercing of my finger,
from the very pieces of my own existence.

And as the light faded back to the dimness of twilight
The aspect of this whole event crept up behind me unexpectedly.
But how could such great beauty come from so much pain?
In my effort to find the answer to this familiar parable,
an emotion came unbidden to me in the depths of my soul.
So beautiful was the light that reflected off of the precious stone
That I became jealous and most envious
For I knew that the light was not my own,
But from another.