Can you mend & upend what is
broken,
this bruised mantra of soldered sanity?
Can you tend it well & remind me how telling
love can be?
For I fell for a broken boy once,
three little words that cracked open rib cage,
unstaged, enraged romance to break ages and eons,
cling-on saran wrap love.
I thought I was
a wreath upon your door
but maybe just a
door mat, flattened and stepped on,
prepped for proper burial...
Where do I begin?
I loved a broken boy once,
his ribs hid a lonely, misbegotten heart,
his veins bled art,
a tart taste of tainted desire and fire
parted with pleasure...
left me mesmerized, tantalized...
but fire burns and churns,
breaking me into bits of
charcoal, stolen remnants of a lost flame,
dying fame, forgetting my own name because
I saw only you,
tried and untrue, perhaps I
flew over the cuckoo's nest
bent and blue
from lack of air
my hair once a spectrum of light
droops and lacks luster,
mustered some dregs of strength,
lacking the length and height and depth of true love.
I forgot of things above.
The broken boy met a broken girl once,
she was shattered and battered of
manipulated, manhandled mechanisms,
chasms and calloused candor,
sarcasm galore, she wanted more
than he could give,
that broken girl, twirling death between
fingertips and lips, chipped teeth
telling bitter deeds to meet mayhem
manifested.
What is broken...can be fixed.
Where He stood,
Only a battered Cross to His name,
but no other deserves the title
Healer
quite like he does,
moving like the morning dove,
gravitating towards things above,
He is love, love, love.
He fell in love with broken people once.
Chances are, He still does...
