Broken Pieces

Uche, a friend of mine, and I decided to share wits on same topic, and here’s what we have, enjoy:

Broken pieces write the most.
Their etches are not understood,
so they hurt the most.
They lie without form,
the same way their shattered peace took;
And their tiny grains of charity still goes with an over look.

Try to fix them and they’ll scatter;
Leave them unattended to and you’ll suffer.
You think they don’t spur you to go far
‘Cause their hands you can’t see from afar.
Yet you forget, we all have one life to live;
Some of us just have nine to give.

Even though we both know you left it for dust retention,
The arrow, somewhat broken, still catches your attention.
It guides you in specific directions
But what happens after? I must not mention.
On and on the cycle goes,
Even tomorrow’s child knows how it flows.

Tell it to the runner, baller, singer
And all who’s gifts made you a winner.
Tell them! Tell them the injury they sustained
didn’t pave way for a new medal sustainer!
Tell them you have plans to keep them!
No, Or do their predecessors need freshers?

Tell them they are not just broken pieces
Lying around, waiting to be swept by winter’s wind.
Broken pieces still write;
In languages you don’t think, they speak.
They do, for it takes the broken to read;
The broken at heart.

Shobb’s

Walking along with a friend;
Watching your best movie’s end;
Eating groundnut as messages send;
Learning to work in order to fend.

The pleasures of life; we feel,
Time; we kill, love; we heal.
Until recollection at night
We see the things that steal
Our treasuries, and fill our me(s).

Our broken pieces we pick;
Our errors and lapses, we seek.
The times we’ve fallen, as pleasure was coming;
The times we’ve gone wrong, and were proud rather than meek.

I pick my pieces,
Pick them good.
I now know what this is,
Then I never understood

Repair what is broken,
Replace what was lost,
Restore what was stolen,
And quench every thirst.

These are my pieces, I pick
The pieces of what was once whole indeed.
I’ll tell the story of when I meek
Before I got broken, a sign I was sick.
Uche

Before it looks like you never got up, get up! Before it looks like life’s blow knocked you out, stand!

Pick yourself up and say to yourself: I might be a broken piece, but broken pieces still write. None of my drowning issues will deter me from floating, not anymore. It’s time to heal.

What’s your take? Got a line or two to drop? Got inspired? Use the comment box, would love to hear from you, and don’t forget to share😁

Author

Shobandedaniel@gmail.com

Comments

Uche
December 20, 2019 at 9:24 pm

Nice one man.
Don’t worry, one day you will blow

All it takes is more spilling of ink 😂



Blessing
December 21, 2019 at 6:43 am

Inspiring..it’s time to heal



happiness
December 21, 2019 at 2:28 pm

I totally love it.. So nice



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