with wounded touch I yet behold
your stained glass heart;
stained with my own blood,
broken and piled in pieces cold

bare and bruised; my cut feet
trampled on sacred ground
where you laid your hope and love
in silent repose and defeat

salty; these tears do meld and sting
deeply inside as the old songs sing
to rub in the pain as my scarred hands cling
to a life that no longer means anything

scattered light in rainbow shards
that the shattered glass quickly discards
red, dark and violet scars
inside, unseen but never far

can love be found and even known
when time unwinds into broken scenes
where will we find our forward path
why does glass break with stones?