Broken Hearted

I wish that we could hold a funeral for you

To let you go.

They say that if you love something you should:

But I can’t make sense of that.

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Now, I want you close

To heal your wounds

To tend the abrasion of your soul

Diminished by people that threw you away

Their hollowness

Their shallowness

Their callowness

Not yours

I wish we could hold a funeral for you

Rather than know you are out in the world

Alone

Wounded

Wanting

Casting your line for what will take away your pain

And finding only a boot, an old tyre, broken like you are.

There is abundance here.

Of love

Of nurture.

To mend and to amend.

But compassion does not make us feel alive.

Like the thrill of a new bite on a line.

And a shiny new fish.

That turns out to be that old boot.

I wish that we could hold a funeral for you

So that we might mourn the sadness in you

Lay it to rest

So that you might return from your fishing trip

With no more taste for your catch.

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