A crutch for your foot,
A cane for your knee,
I’ll sign your cast for your neighbours to see.
A mechanized chair
And a ramp for your door,
A tablet to take when your muscles are sore.
A stick when you’re blind
And an aid for your ear,
Glasses and lenses when vision’s unclear.
A band-aid for blood
And a note on your chart –
But what do I do when the hole’s in my heart?
Image came from here.
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 
ah…this is where perspective is of paramount importance. for instance, we say “my bones grow” instead of acknowledging that “i grow my own bones.” time doesn’t heal our wounds, only we can. melody, i love your poems!!! so heartfelt…
Again – thank you, Kris, for the encouragement. It gives wings to my words!
This is heartfelt and also reminded me of one of my favourite Bob Dylan songs
“..Broken dishes broken parts
Streets are filled with broken hearts
Broken words never meant to be spoken
Everything is broken…”
Haven’t heard that song for ages…Thanks for connecting!
That’s always a problem, how to sew a hurt heart together…
And there are so many hurts in our world! So sad…A good reason to choose to enjoy every moment that we can, right?
Reminds me of lines from Rudyard Kipling’s “If”:
“… or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
and stoop and build them up again
with worn out tools…”
Meaning, one can always mend and amend anything broken.
Thanks for this post. 😉
Yes, you’re so right – ‘broken’ can be mended. A difficult and arduous process – but well worth the effort! Thank you for your wise words.
Reblogged this on Meanwhile, Melody Muses… and commented:
These are some thoughts from a year ago today, continuing my anniversary tour. It’s interesting to look back on what on my heart at a different time, different place…
This is really powerful, Mel–I love it!
Thanks sis…
“Love Held”
The most fickle of fates
is love held deep in heart;
one day it the will breaks,
next to join two limp parts
strong together as one,
the next throws asunder
all the stars and the sun.
Still next fills with wonder
when a baby is born.
Though faint love may be, still
it springs to life, lone dot
within whimpered wail’s will,
starting chilled, ending hot.
Poised indiscriminate,
untamed flame, fire that dies,
coldly compassionate,
love that in all men lies.
Eric
Couldn’t say it better myself! 🙂
😉
I love your poem. To respond, I refer you to Mary Oliver’s, Mornings at Blackwater, where she ends her thoughts on how to live with the past in this way:
…put your lips to the world.
And live,
your life.
Isn’t that pure wisdom? To live – to experience joy and freedom in simply breathing, is indeed a rich and valuable gift!
Poor heart – I think it may be a part that never heals completely once it’s broken.
There will probably always be cracks – but I think it is perking up!