Pretty Broken Things

Like a corvid I can instinctively find

The most derelict bits of human creation

Collected with the intent to somehow heal

Hoping to revive and perhaps make whole

Whichever pieces inside have been torn

I see the hidden beauty of such things

I do not always seek out these things

Sometimes it is me they manage to find

Sensing that parts of myself are also torn

Feeling that there is a flaw in my creation

Drawn to that which is not quite whole

In their own quest to possibly, finally heal

Ultimately it is always ourselves we heal

When we seek out other broken things

In our attempts at making something whole

We are magpies trying desperately to find

The one most existence affirming creation

To stitch and patch where we were torn

But often the places where another is torn

Show a vivid reflection of what to heal

Their broken parts are our own creation

An ugly mirror held to reveal the things

We insistently work hard to never find

Fearing what it might mean to be whole

Because whenever we do become whole

Forced to look again at why we felt torn

The sting of a needle is what we’ll find

A bright new pain that is needed to heal

Stitching and pulling through the things

That had been our soul’s sacred creation

Repairing a soul is the greatest creation

Our wisest selves bringing us whole

Allowing us to release those things

That tangle like a bird’s nest being torn

Granting ourselves permission to heal

Removing the fear of what we might find

No creation stays torn forever

The whole of eternity is how we heal

Those things we were once afraid to find