Splintered

needs some title work

  The beating heart of love can be splintered by the hands of lust

  Eyes once so bright with creation and passion can find their shades to be drawn

  A simple silhoutte of the infinite being in chains

  There is no weight to hold them but a fabrication of superior inferiority

  The inability to accept the blessings one has been gifted

  I say carry that cross and wear your crown of thorns

  let the ride of this life journey you to your own liberalization from the shackles of self-worth

  allow the breathe of universal truth reinvigorate you to this moment of clarity

  there is no throne necessary to dignify the soul