It’s not that there is not merit to
what you are saying.
Sure; there is certainly satisfaction
in breaking something apart,
reveling in the tiny fragments
that scatter where it once
But if you take an egg,
throw it with all of your strength,
and watch the soggy insides
drip and ooze against the concrete
where it met its demise
you cannot take back your action.
Similarly, with your suggestion:
take a bat and smash it!
You have defied the first Creator
of your now beaten,
that was once a vase,
a lamp, a teapot, a glass,
never to be as it once was.
There is no coming back,
no repair you could possibly offer,
amount of glue, or time, or energy,
to give back to the first artist
who sat painting, painstakingly,
threw on the wheel, handbuilt,
or blew with heat and fire at their brow,
the sweat and blood worked into
their art piece,
nor do you honor the first owner
who saw it as something that might
bring color and light into their
home, or coffee, how it matched
some part of their own soul and
called to them.
It is a statement, to be sure,
and granted, I do not take to
any theory of broken windows
or juvenile crime from your
emotion that you deigned art
the very moment a wooden
bat connected with a fragile
figment, standing in your
way of violent rebellion (it is, afterall,
in our nature to do such things),
but I must protest.
What is it, exactly,
that you wish to state?
That you can break something?
Did you believe that you could not?
That no object lasts forever?
Were we not already aware?
Or is it a metaphor for the fragility
of life, a moment taken to
destroy what took hours to
design, seal, and paint?
What is the point of that?
If you took these pieces, and made
a mosiac, or pictures for a show,
slowed down time to watch that moment
preserving it on film forever,
but I don’t feel that is what you are doing,
You destroy it for the sheer joy
of destroying something,
and nothing more than that.
I can not abide this.