the one of splintered hearts
shy good-byes, and journeys
starting with a single step,
slouching towards bethlehem, as she says.
but it's true.
we can slouch. that's all,
and wait at broken earth, under cross's shadow
whisper, "today i am broken.
tomorrow, will you break me
lips dry and cracked under desert sun
throat or soul more parched than last
all that's left is a poet without words
a singer without melody
a craftsman without his tools
all, breaking hallelujah in bread
i wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago, but after the hopelessness i felt yesterday, it felt very appropriate to link up to emily's imperfect prose. i'm imperfect indeed, but that's where His beauty fills and makes whole.