A broken man walks, lost in the deep.
His eyes tell tales of battles unhealed,
A heart wrapped in chains, its fate sealed.
You’re not the saviour; you wear no crown,
To lift him from ashes, to pull him from down.
His wreckage is his, a burden to bear,
Your love, like water, won’t cleanse despair.
You can’t conjure light in a soul that’s blind,
Nor stitch the wounds of a restless mind.
Each tear that you spill, each breath that you waste,
Is a whisper of hope that’s coldly displaced.
You’re not his mother, not meant to atone,
Your heart's not a shelter for the lost and alone.
You’re burdened with shadows of your own dark fight,
Why wade in his sorrows? Why swallow the night?
A well runs dry when drawn too often,
Love’s flame, once bright, starts to soften.
You’ve your own demons, your own battles to face,
Don’t drown in the depths of another’s embrace.
In the echo of silence, find your own song,
For the broken will break you if you linger too long.
Tread the path of your truth, let the darkness unfold,
For the light within you is worth more than gold.
By Maggie Martin
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