Broken Wings

There are times that I often think...
"why must this vessel continue to sink?"
I feel as though I am lost at sea,
in the restless storm inside of me.

The devastation that rages deep inside
has become too powerful and savage to hide.
In the heart of chaos rests an injured dove...
but weep not for this creature forgotten by love.

For this creature is useless and does not deserve,
the privilege to heal or self preserve.
Though it may seem gentle and warm,
it will receive the full force of the storm.

It will come down upon it's head like 1000 curses,
such destruction only seen in biblical verses.
Do not praise it, should it survive,
for the worst of it's curses keeps it alive.

It's body is broken, it's bloody beak drips,
for it has endured it's own apocalypse.
It looks around in horror and disbelief,
and lets loose and echoing cry of grief.

It's cry amplifies to a deafening scream,
for each breath it takes is a mockery of it's dream.
The storm absorbs every tear that it cries,
enhancing the storms power and size.

It wonders how many tears it will take,
and how many times it's heart must break.
How many storms are to be endured?
so that it's death can be assured.

When will the dawn be it's last?
so that it's suffering becomes the past...
It must beg, since it hopes no more,
unable to recover from each storm before.

One wing always bloody, broken, and torn,
yet is nothing compared to it's heart that's worn.
Living only for the need to die,
this shell of a dream can no longer fly.

It represents the beauty once possessed,
that are now feelings sealed and repressed.
It's own vessel has become it's tomb,
the chaotic prison where hope once bloomed.

So as anguish pummels the helpless soul,
the feeling of misery swallows it whole.
With nothing to wish for and no good to come,
the lonely dove turns cold and numb.


Crushed by sorrow, the dove no longer sings
it just withers in silence upon broken wings.