She tells me that she is broken,
in ways that are usually unspoken.
Her heart’s door is barely open
but I’ll wait by it just the same.
She says she’s better off alone,
as she calls me up on the phone.
Voice shakes so in a “Help me” tone
as she hesitantly hangs up again.
She’s scared to trust, to give others a shot,
for friends are only there until they’re not.
Still, I’ll be beside her with all that I’ve got.
Hope she sees I’m staying in time.
She says she will manage to do it all herself
as her jar of hopes falls from a worn out shelf.
Can I mend glass and fill it with hope and health
and share some salvation sublime?
She feels her future’s filled with black,
heading nowhere fast on a one way track.
I’ll pull countless colours off my stack
to try to fill her world with light.
She sobs her world it is at an end,
so damaged there’s now nothing left to mend.
If angels were real then I would send
some to hold and heal her tonight.
I’ll help her when she needs me to,
and I’ll do everything that I can do.
I know the hurt she’s going through
for I’ve been through it as well.
There’s these three words I long to say
but know she’s not ready to hear today
and perhaps it is better off that way.
So I guess that I’ll never tell.
No, I’ll never tell.
Copyright © 2015 Philip Craddock. All rights reserved.