The silence of brokenness

To care is to be disappointed,
To care is to be devastated.
The heart of it all,
was crushed by the fall.
Guaranteed soul destruction
Guaranteed total demolition
of the organ that keeps
everything a beat
How much simpler to then close it off
To lock it away in a box
Shut out from the sun's burning rays
And the beauty that fills the days
Closed to the brutal coldness of humanity
Closed too, to the beauty of simplicity
Instead, pour out into the deafening silent abyss
That has for times untold listened to all amiss
The wineskin that has counted every tear drop
The Hand that can make it all stop
But it won't, because to pour out
Is the only way to appease doubt
Until one is empty and drained
Then it will come the late summer rain
Onto the broken earth of the broken heart
that has been tilled and plowed, all exposed sinews apart
Can finally absorb the compassion need
and the multitudes with grace to feed
To fill up with joy
only to be destroyed
again lest the poor soul believes
it is he that relieves.
And so in this constant state
That mercifully does not abate,
The soul will delight in loneliness
and the perpetual silence of brokenness.