Restoration

I can recall, dimly, in the echoing
empty halls of memory
the restoration of that heart, so broken
and worn beyond usefullness.

I remember you sitting there, touching me
in that comfortable way while tears
and grief passed through your body
like a train bound for war.
Tears flowed onto my lap in anguish
your face contorted expressing the
pain I could not
yet lay hold of.

I can hear your words to me that day
as I stood stoic, like the oak
straight and unyeilding
you asked, "Why is it that you stand alone?"
The lightning bolt of your words
striking that pulpy, fleshy center
and I split in two
Death raining all the while.

I can still feel the pressure of the water
in my ears as I sank beneath the ocean waves
of fear that left me breathless
grasping for a hand or a heart
calling out for help, screaming out for help,
desparate then for help.

I do not know the moment I was born
or the place where I came to find rest
and peace of a sort
Walking now running now
I know only the distant echoes
of the Carpenter's hammer in the empty halls of memory
and the restoration of a heart that was so broken
and worn, beyond usefullness.