Broken Words

These very words are broken.

Their very being is glass
like paper in a thunderstorm of emotions
So delicate but blame shall not be put on them
I do not wear them across my face

but perhaps they are slung over my shoulders

Like the one who holds the pen and the paper

the words are unreadable
They shred, slash and ravage me while mounted
Even with a hand held out to them, they turn heads

Their sorrowful sounds more reason to help find
a grateful ears tingle once more

With every shattering comes a new dawn of lost meaning

They quest for the truth, unknowingly

looking for themselves

Broken words, broken book
Who will listen to the broken words?

These are the words that are painted in white
on white stained night-sky.