A Broken Anthem

Sun, 01/05/2014 - 17:10 -- Sam.S

I know a man who could wield a thread and needle

 through and through. He learned the art from a pair of wrinkled hands

that were charred from a cigarette’s kiss.

 I know a man who could compose symphonies out of a pair

of silver spoons. He learned the art from the natural world,

which lent him the tune.

I know a man who could dismantle bones

with a simple consonant or syllable. He learned the art from the Fuhrer,

who shook down a whole nation with words.

All these men could

and none would.

Your parents teach you the facts of life

 but the part they leave out is an in between.

They gave you the blank ivory pages

so you can make the story.

The in between,

the middle,

and the end.

 Like many, your tale will be filled

with broken people. And you won’t be able to fix them;

you may try oh so desperately, but you won’t be able to.

And that’s because broken people can never truly be fixed,

They are not leaky faucets or burnt-out light bulbs.

You can’t take a wrench and tighten a screw to

make them good as new.

The man with the needle patched up his dolls

 in a way he could never do for himself.

The man with the silver spoons complicated his pure tune

 just like he did with his life.

The man with the words touched many and yet

he never really touched himself.

They all lived in a broken mason jar,

a morose world of their own.

But you can help them put on their boxing gloves and step into the ring

to punch the feelings away. To shatter their brokenness

and become a whole new person. Catharsis.

 It hits the spot every time.

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