Broken Woman

She was once whole, but now she's two halves,
Split like a curtain, torn from top to bottom.
Now she bonds with melancholy
and anger has become her
squeezing together tightly like a knot
in the pit of her stomach.
The coldness of the dark,
Like a casket with a body.
The unresolved questions linger
like the Samaritan at the well
waiting in hope of answers.
"Anger" questions, "Could I have done more?"
"Sadness" answers with tears
streaming down the faces of a broken women.
Why is she broken?
Imprisoned by the piercing silence
that wrestles the voice within,
The voice of her child,
Lost to a loveless world of woe.
Her only begotton son,
An arrow sprung from the bow.
Now she bellows from a distance
equivalent to the living and the dead.
But her son still lives inside her
like a Monarch in a jar,
Captured,

Broken Woman

Longing to be free again.
Only if she could free herself
and pick up the broken pieces,
The lost smiles, the unseen tears,
The loneliness that beseeches
answers birthing anger.
She was once whole, but now she's two halves.
Split like a curtain, torn from top to bottom.