My Poor Heart

These pieces lay broken can you make out a heart?

It was given, then stolen, and slowly ripped apart

I tried my best to save it, but it’s a lost art

So fragile, rough handled, my poor broken heart.

It carried the tragedy of others so many I tried to fix

I didn’t realise my goodness was falling to bits

Now I’m just a lonely scarecrow left hoping for a new heart

It’s not a quick fix, this beauty doesn’t quick start

This heart is pure magic it’s worth it’s weight in gold

Can’t you see it beats clearly through stubborn and cold?

There’s pulses in pain but there’s goodness there still

This heart is for life it’s no cheap thrill.

Purity is rare, the rose comes with the thorn

This heart loves easily but it can burn and scorn

Be patient, I’ll fix it, for now let me mourn

Ice freezes but shatters in the warming of dawn.

2 thoughts on “My Poor Heart

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