The Balm

Busted up and broken,

   too many pieces now

     to put back together

       so midst the sharp shards

         a bare vulnerable soul 

stepping first here, then there.

A wet red trail behind

    filled with broken dreams,

       regrets of things not done,

         grief's fresh salty tears

            pouring forth painfully

like heavy morning dew.

Where's the Balm of Gilead

     that might soothe the soul

       of the unbearable

         unstoppable bleeding

           of a heart that beats on

though thick with love lost?

The Balm has been applied,

     but on another side

        like oil on Aaron's beard

          dripping down slowly

            on this side of the veil

touching the waiting ones.