Well...
Here it is and that's where it stays,
A hard stone heart, cold as it lays
in the middle of His palm it desires to beat again
but the life in the blood appears to be at its end.
The cry of the heart is weak and its cracked
For it hasn't been washed and the layers are stacked,
Layers of times of Pride and of Doubt
Where the heart heard the voice but never turned around.
And as its still and life almost gone,
The hard stone heart looks at what its done.
Trying to cry but no tears will flow
It strains to hear the rooster crow.
A chance to see where its gone wrong
Or to turn and believe, its chances might be gone.
From dried cracked lips, the heart begins to sing
Gratitude and thanks for the little life that still beats.
He wants the hand that holds him, to break Him apart
For maybe in pieces, he'll be a better heart.
He's heard of healing hands that puts hearts together again
"What's going on?" he moans, and confusion sets in.
A piercing crow splits his side
And tears begin to flow as he lays there and cries
He sees what he's done, and thats all he sees
He hates what he was, and from it to be free
The hand brings the heart close to His face;
The poor broken heart can not bear his pain.
He falls apart, blood softening the hard.
Surrendering, he is washed.
Here it is and that's where it stays,
Pieces of the heart in hands blood-stained.
The hands enclose over it, sealing the heart
It will be used to revive others who, once cold and hard, have broken apart.
November 2006
2 comments:
good poetry William....John is also writing poetry on his blog:
http://smokebreakmusings.blogspot.com/
Sup man, I enjoyed the poem, I'll be checking into a couple of the other posts up on here in the next few days and hopefully dropping a couple of comments on you. I noticed a post on self sacrifice, and I've recently been thinking about the nature of sacrifice myself. Anywho I'll catch up on your stuff in a while.
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