A Wreck Reckoned as Naught

In my haste

I embraced

The worst of me,

Brushing aside

The gold inside

Till naught but iron gleamed.

With a heart full of rust

How could I trust

Worth lay within?

For every attempt to right

Felt like a bitter slight

And not some higher plan.

For how can you see

Among all this debris

Something worth saving?

Yet you have shown

I am no longer my own,

But merely an extension

Of your outstretched hands.