Picking Up The Pieces

Picking Up The Pieces.

Picking up the pieces of a love shattered heart.
Trying to reassemble it. I don’t know where to start.
The pieces don’t seem to go together right.
Though I try and try with all my might.
It is like trying to walk on very slippery ice.
I could slip and shatter it some more. Not nice.
I could cut corners and reshape a piece to fit.
Maybe I could hammer it in without a hitch?
Alas, It just doesn’t work that way in the end.
All the kings horses and all the kings men.
Couldn’t put together the shattered heart again.
Maybe I can become one of the tin men.
No heart needed, just a little oil now and then.
Oh, is there no way to get over this pain?
Cracking jokes and denying can drive one insane.
I have a feeling this will take a long time.
Going through each day still wishing you were mine.
This is different from physical pain.
It can feel just as bad. There is nothing to gain.
I have been told learn from your mistakes.
But, it felt so right. Why did it feel so great?
I could become a rock or an island.
Like the Paul Simon song. I would die by then.
I have my books and poetry to protect me.
Even so, I am still not able to be free.
Free from the pain, the hurt, the memory.
If I dwell on it I am digging myself in further.
I must go, quiet as a mouse, not even a murmur.
Go into the world and live again.
Who knows, maybe I will make a friend?

——————————————-R.W. Johnson—–(2018)