Shattered, skin begins to peel,
Fractured, neurons fail to feel;
Fragments blister, lose their grip,
Smithereens abandon ship.
Underneath, as damage heals,
skin is soft, and raw, and real;
Tree lets go of what was dead
to grow in grace and truth instead.
Image courtesy of El Bueno, El Feo y El Malo
Created in Your image,
yet torn am I.
Fragile fragments, whisper-thin shadings
delineate my frame,
a dress-maker’s form
bereft of substance and style.
You alone know the hidden places
where the bits of me lie;
put me back together,
render Your fingerprint
in high relief on each segmented scrap.
When Your signature
sews me shut,
stops the gaps,
the Masterpiece of me
will glow with Your glory.
Put me back together,
make mine a heart undivided and whole,
that I might parade Your Power
from bill-board heights.
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 