Broken Dolls

Peace draped His being, not a sound was heard,

and He observed the world within His hands.

His breath was a perfumed gale, His word

painted sky, sea, earth, and desert sands.

He suffused the air with notes of song

and scribbled spirit in sacred moss.

He gilded green with a motley throng

of fragrant flowers for winds to toss.

He gave His love and it was betrayed;

and so, in closing, the silent grave.

He yet forgives the debt unrepaid

folding it tenderly like a wave.

We carry our burdens deep, unseen,

like a restrung strand of golden beads.

The tarnish conceals the blinding sheen,

a flawless vessel of wants and needs.

We are born to life, and we live to die.

We live hoping there is life after death.

Like broken dolls fallen from out the sky,

we spill our blood, our countenance, our breath.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Lyn Anderson]

In the end, it is what all humans wish for, isn't it? But interesting, life is what you make it, and sometimes the person who seems to have accomplished everything is dissatisfied, and the person whose life seems much more mundane on the outside is content with their choices. But I ramble. A beautiful poem to make one think.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

and we live to die peacefully, and having accomplished enough that our living days mattered...so well expressed here, and that picture is so unique.

"the tarnish conceals the blinding sheen"


at least we can say that...whether there is a sheen or not...we conceal so no one can really know what lies underneath...

your poetry moves me so much...you cut to the heart of feelings with a sharp pen.

[micahd]

I really like this poem, and I think the music piece goes really well with it. Its seems very nostalgic reminds me of a timeless tale.