A Broken Shell.


The final part of a broken soul is the deepest darkest blackest hole.

Without a wall or chains of hate without a fence without a gate.

A lush and perfect endless landscape peacock feathers and china plates.

Shells of life hang from the tree’s and there you’ll see completely me.

Break me here i’ll feel all pain for in my self I feel this rain.

The final part to this muddled mind and I wonder what it is you’ll find.

Karen Hayward (copyright 2015)

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