Broken

What is the sound of a soul as it shatters?
I imagine it is something between the wail of the grief stricken,
And the shriek of the mortally wounded,
Ringing out in the darkest night imaginable.

There was a Time when I know I heard this sound,
As my soul was broken, shattered like a pane of glass,
Hit by a thrown stone, cold shards like razors,
Invisibly piercing every aspect of my being.

The sound is only heard by the holder of the soul,
And the wounds created by the shards are bloodless,
But the appearance of the the holder of that soul changes,
Ages, as if time has taken them well beyond their years.

This is how I feel so many days and hours,
Moving through the world on step in front of the other,
Even as the scraping of the shards tears me apart,
From the inside out.

And after a time, the hurt digs in so deep,
That I feel nothing at all, numb as though all my nerves are dead,
And all that is left is the pain of the real world,
To remind me that I am still here.

Joy turns to sadness in an instant,
Just a look, a thought, a word,
And I am despondent, and crushed,
Sick in my core, bur still struggling on.

And so I feel nothing,
Taste nothing,
Smell or touch nothing that brings me what I need,
What will help me make it through another day….but for what?

This life has broken me,
I feel all used up,
And I fear the love I feel,
Is no match for the cold inevitability,
Of eternal solitude.

I remain adrift,
With few answers,
That I desperately need,
But fear I will never get,
From the broken pieces inside of me.

Quincy R Tatum
February 27, 2012