"Hiding in my bedroom behind the locked door"

Broken

Is it still a poem if it is broken?
I can only write a broken poem now
As a broken poet in a broken house
Where things are done which can never be spoken
By unsentimental people who know how
To destroy what must seem like a broken mouse
To them just the doomed and forsaken heir of
A personalized death at the unclean hands
Of these conquerors none of whom understands
They poisoned me with suffering killed my love
And destroyed first my home then my sanity

Should I have sold when I was told and fled when
It got so cold and I got old and bled then
With memories of scenes like these? To bed then
(My cat and I) afraid to die but still more
Afraid of my life and what I lost it for
Hiding in my bedroom behind the locked door

Father have mercy on your wandering son
Receive my soul and spare my children from this
Take me home to my true home grant the sweet kiss
Of your forgiveness to this your broken one
It simply hurts too much now for me to be
I want to see my Grandma see my mother
And my Grandpa who loved me like no other
I gave my all but nothing is left for me
Where things are done which can never be spoken
As a broken poet in a broken house
I can only write a broken poem now

Is it still a poem if it is broken?

+Steven Curtis Lance



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