Fractured

Cleaning out the shed at home yesterday, I came across a scrap of paper on which I had written a poem years ago. I no longer remember when it was written or what specifically prompted it. My guess is that it was written during my major depressive illness which lasted for about 10 years.

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Ragged lines scribbled on a page
A child waiting expectantly
What is it that I view?
Dancing around the tangled web
Glistening from the clashing colours
Read the love between the lines
It’s real, it’s deep, the gift is mine
The mirror crack’d
Image blurred
Can’t quite see just who is there
Past the dirt and grime
Image of the divine
Strain my eyes to see
To know, to love, the person who is me
Fractured by the Fall
It’s happened to us all
Beauty obscured
Radiance to behold
In amongst the thorns
Delicate rose is formed
Worth the shedding of blood
To touch, to smell, to caress
Fingertips straining
Touching — only just
Pain and hurting
Clay and iron mixed
Love the potter’s hand
Shaping, molding, building
Gracious union — sweet communion
- Steve Parker