Brokenness, Not in Blood
There are no words for the sorrow that overwhelms me.
The dull ache that grow, expands, and leaks through my eyes and down my cheeks never seems to be satisfied.
A child of two worlds is owned by both and loved by neither.
Deep healing is denied, for pride has broken both worlds.
When the ache is silent, she paints on a smile and pretends that all is her choice by free will.
Yet nothing is truly freely chosen.
It is dark, it is cold, it is empty.
In choosing one world, she loses the other. In choosing the other, she loses the one.
Neither world allows both worlds nor truly rejoices in the choosing, as loose ends frayed beyond fear blow in the wind.
Her yearning for full wholeness and oneness is a pale shadow of the Shepherd’s, and He’s too gentle to force unity.
True healing denied her, she seeks to live fully or as fully as a tin can can until the curtains pull back on eternal paradise.
