This poem is about living in the grievously beautiful realty that a truly open heart is a broken heart. I wrote this poem years ago, and now I have come to understand that my heart is broke in, as in the test runs of my heart having prepared me to run more effectively. May your heart aches prepare you for better living.
The Whole In My Soul
As pain bleeds into beauty
In slow motion
My heart beaten
Since before I new
What it was like to be borne
Before I couldn’t breathe
In neighboring the human raze
The yoke that was on me
Won of light
In a dark whirled
Unveiled
As a bushel basket tumbling down
A city on a hill
An empty hull shed
Leaving only a naked seed
Whose fate wrests in being soiled
In grained looking up
Even as stars are
Incontrovertibly shrouded
As commonplace as souls under foot
And still life
Springs forth
From where sow ever
Fathomed
A broken heart
As an open heart
Poored out
Not robbed as a thief
Given free
Not a broke in heart
Nor dread as adore nail
Fore what
Rather who
I am
Is more
Then awe that
The whole in my soul
