Fragments Of The Crystal

As the winds of change howl, lonely and foul,
Polaris-pointed gaze from the moment of prowl,
Fragments of The Crystal days scowl,
Effervescently grinding afoul of a growl,
The very days that I run into the weeping vale,
Reminding me of the everyday pain of the Fragments of The Crystal.

Reformation and re-location re-bases
The fragmentation laid upon me be ever changing,
For it is not what sense is made from the ranging, rather that it requires saving,
Fragments Of The Crystal remain scattered in shavings.

Imagine crystal halls, full of lonely souls waving, craving, raving, and misbehaving,
Etched into the very walls, all souls continually carving and engraving,
Do you not see that we are all Fragments Of The Crystal?

As we pass through, all souls continue on the journey,
Back to the very start, to the very moment of entrapment,
It is the one thing stagnant, yet rampant and seemingly absent,
Who am I to question, when all that I am is a Fragment Of The Crystal?

Like a thistle, all prickly edged or simply wistful?
Artificial, beneficial, belittle, committal, distal?
Fragments Of The Crystal forebears dismissal?
Bristle with the thought of changing things?
Is it all  that simple?
Or are we simply to accept the notion that we all are part of a larger Crystal?