Broken
So often the word used to illustrate
The feeling of pain in a human state,
A weary mind, a spirit that yearns
A body crumbling as another year turns.

Age, makes no difference in the mind of a traveler,
Relative facts only help the moldy thoughts gather.
Age, relative of these as any other
Young or old
Timid or bold,
The pain you own is enough to smother
Thoughts of life lived to experience joy
Instead of the daily toils that we employ.

But I sit in a hovel pondering the weary
Contemplating on a life incomplete, and dreary.
Dreams escape and dreams eschew,
And dreams are only dreams when they never come true.

Broken thoughts of days gone past
Living in moments unable to last
Working toward better times not soon to come
Trying to hold each happy minute too quickly gone
Guided hands that create a euphoric high
And lifeless bodies spent side by side
Broken, cracking, blistered skin
Showing bones, bleeding sins, and worn too thin

Surrounding the shattered thoughts of a tired mind
Broken resonates as a ricochet report
Seeking a counsel for loving and kind
In a world determined to crumble all support
Ceasing and halting all trying to find
The safety from their storms in a familiar port

Keep your light shining bright
For the broken minds who seek through the night
To find another broken soul
Who understands this human toll