with a broken hand, I have walked
on the shores of a shattered strand
in mind, of a wretched man
paths of woe and sunlit greens
burdened by ebb and flow
rowing with broken hand,
travelling crooked streams
with words to die for scrawled
upon my staff, seeing all who
come my way. reminders we came
to pay, to have all
we prayed for.
with broken hand have I shorn sheep
fathered children, harvested wheat
baked bread in a hearth of stone
travelled over river and mountain throne.
heal not these bones, for suffering
has made the joys much sweeter
forging chalices of gold, songs for Demeter.
yet blackened and gnarled
has this hand become
I force my will on these fingers
writing words to live for
onward, my stories will linger
reminding of tribulation and thorn
times of loss, nations war-torn
much do we lose, much do we gain
what is this life’s reward, without
lament and pain?
a broken hand has carried me thus
so in this, I trust
even if no longer can I hold yours
nails will etch your name
upon my staff, ’till
I can no longer grip its haft.
sorrow will come, and sorrow be done
I face all with this broken hand.
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