of the shattered heart instrument
with their jagged shards that rip and shred the skin,
can not be gathered by flesh covered hands.
Only to be gathered
by gentle fingers of a soul
and knows the pain
of a shattered heart.
Its light illuminating
forming a beautiful mosaic
born of a shattered symphony..
.. and the heart instrument
“When there is stillness,
the Beloved enters like a mist.
I am disarmed of my words.
There are no empty pages to be found…
and my pen has run dry.
The hours gaze from a clock with no face
and I am delivered from the clutches of time and space.
My eyes reflect light from that of a lantern
held by a wayfaring messenger.
She says, ‘I am not writer, I am written…”
~ Skip Maselli @Proseplay