Anguish of a Broken Heart

Change on a whim, carried by the wind. Tossed to and fro, like a blade of grass. Here today, unsure of tomorrow.

Trust so sure, confidence so strong. Human frailty pulls the rug out from under. Earthquaking, heartaching and back breaking. Loss of faith.

Not that I have lost all faith. It’s just no longer complete. I want to believe so fully. I suffer a type of PTSD.

You say “believe” and “love”. I no longer trust the words. Everything said before was once so peaceful, now is slightly disturbed.

Do I know you? Do you know you? I want to know you. Do you want to know you? For who you are.

Now, my heart is broken. Now, my heart is guarded. I don’t like that. Guarded by distance and doubt not by the peace of the Garden.

Word is the bond. Love is commitment. Balanced with self and selfless, intimate justice and willing to die. I want to reverse time but all I can do is cry.

So here’s my heart in fragile condition. Do you care to hold it;  long for its restoration?

Reflection, reflection. Is that what I need? All of me for all of you. All of you for all of me. Can you understand?

This is the love I know. What I have experienced and seen. It is why I am (here). It is what you see in me.

Love you to death. Give and give, change shapes, shift and bend. Love you to life. Cultivate, fertilize, husband. Resolve is firm; wounded but for courage.

Like Thomas I doubt. I don’t feel safe. Oh, me of little faith. I need a slap in the face! Can these promises be saved? Oh, me little faith.

What I once thought true, I now fear was/is a lie. Please give me time as my heart decides. I’m a doubting Thomas. What of and, but, for the promise?

Oh, faith where art thou? Take me to the set or the dawn. Take me to the end or the start. How to mend this broken heart.

I feel so small. My heart is frail. This love needs a jumpstart. How to bind this wounded heart.

I once believed and thought it was real. Now I don’t know. I don’t know if you’re ready for this. I doubt your resolve. Why should that matter?

What of unconditional? Is it another lie or another doubt? What do I know? Do we feel the same? I was once so sure.

– from Late March

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