Thursday, September 18, 2014

There's beauty in broken things.

There's promise in the breaking.

There's wistfulness when it's deep.

There's hunger upon the waking.

There's faltering and wavering,

Doubting and delaying,

Then brashness and surity,

And finally quiet understanding.

A rare token is the climb and the rise.

A reward to be highly valued.

It's in the fall and on the way down

That we learn the sadness of silence.

There's beauty in broken things,

So be tender and strong and aware,

It's a full and lonely land,

We'll all see each other there.