Broken Things


Broken things are pretty,
It's cracks that prove you've lived.
A soul pristine and shiny
Has never learned to give.

You can sit up on a mantle,
And never chance a fall
Or jump into the fray
And heed the primal call.

The choice is really simple,
But once the race is done
Will you have let love scar you,
Or walked a lonely road alone?

Pain is the only teacher,
And Heartache the only friend
Whose brutal honesty can cut
But leave you better in the end.

For in order to love fully
You must first encounter sorrow.
Learn to mend your broken wing,
Then fly off to the morrow.

Broken things are pretty,
It's cracks that prove you've lived.
A soul pristine and shiny
Has never learned to give.

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