The Broken You

Your fingers stagger
On the guitar.
Your soul is searching
For what it doesn't know.
Your clueless spirit hovering
Over the waters with eternal groans.

You used to be the slave of fear
Your high dreams beaten into its ploughshare.
Your greatest foe
Became the mirror.
The eyes of every child held terror
For your innocence was cheaply sold.

Do I tell your story
Or you are the monarch whose butler is deception?
Surely I can tell your heart is a scenery
Of fallen walls and feasting demons.

There is way for you beyond a poem
Beyond astrology and the words of the wisest of men.
I will fail to help
But I must tell you one thing;
You're a lion's whelp
Sought after with unspeakable longing.
You must not linger
Though you stagger.
Come up hither
As you bleed on your guitar.
At the gate will the potter -
Be waiting with a new heart.
Put away the wineskin of grief
There's balm in Gilead for perfect relieve.

- Martins Deep

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