A Beautiful Broken Mess

She was a beautiful broken mess

Of stress, and loneliness. I must confess,

I marveled in the beauty of each broken piece,

And how tears would not come to bring release

To dried out eyes and even drier bones.

With no words words to say her spirits groans.

Such a beautifully, 

Broken, 

Mess.

He was a study in angles, quiet, and pain

looking for answers were none remain.

With quiet indifference he hides his eyes

In fear they will see, he doubts his life.

Is he living, or striving, loving or lusting

A heart like metal with holes that are rusting

A study in angles,

Quiet,

Pain

Paths are seldom straight.

Lives are not easily lived.

Love is never cheap.

Hope is beauty for the living.

They create a mosaic work of music and art

that others see and hear, because they stand apart.

If they could only see the beauty inside the pain

and find joy in not knowing what in future lays.

To find, their struggles are colors forming the patterns,

And patterns, the patterns, creating the anthem.

A mosaic work,

Music and art,

Lives create