This poem is another meditation on a chronically broken heart, busted wide open, caught a mist the beauty of awe creation and the cruelty of the whirled. My heart poors into the world with awe that cannot be contained.
The Broke In Heart
I could see a potential vane-ness
In axing God
A question
Posed
By so-so many
Nonetheless, I found
Perhaps too subtle for any canon
And over the course
Of many years
God’s comeback peered to me
Soully through my broken heart
Choired a mist
Months of Sundays
Regardless
Wall-to-wall cruelty
In difference
Wherever the prevailing wins
Might go
And the beating doesn’t stop
And still
My heart
Joy springs like sew many weeds
And roguish humors
Come like a thief in the night
Beauty lurks
Round every corner
Even as the mundane
Becomes wholly
As sew much sorrow
Sow much joy
It is not a miracle
That your heart abides
With stand
A world of constant sorrows
It is not a miracle
That your heart
Is enraptured
Within a world of unreckonable joys
Sow what
Is a miracle
That you are endured to me
As won
Beyond safe keeping
A heart big enough
Too holed
Sorrow and joy teeming
A mystical combination
Open to awe
Securing your refuge status
As a broke in heart
