you’ve been carrying them around with you so long you don’t remember their weight.
you carry them around in a large glass jug and as you walk they make noises.
every once in a while you pick one up and look closely.
every time you cut yourself on the sharp razor of memory
and every time the poisen oozes slowly into your system.
People, faces, times, places swirl through your mind in a blitz
and your heart races, paces, beats and jumps
every once in while that face.
and your heart always bursts.
more pieces fly out and scatter themselves about your feet.
you can collect some but you never seem to quite get them all
and you can never put them back together.
who will break this jar and gather all of the pieces
and hold them together until they are healed
until I am whole
who has this power?
surely no man, no woman, no thing of this earth.
but I keep searching for treasure a midst the dirt.
but if I find gold should I worship it?
but all the other gods are not gods at all.
they cannot hear and they cannot see.
and the blind lead the blind.
both ending in disaster.
should i follow that way that seems right to me?
but it leads to death.
it beats so out of tune, so awkward.
but who will love this heart until its healed and whole?
who will hold all the pieces together and set it dancing to the right rhythm, singing to the hallowed harmony?
“Rule this heart of mine, O my God, that it be only Yours.”