I am not just a broken piece of Gold
For though I glitter and shine
When you dig deeper and mine
You will find I am a broken piece of glass
Not even a furnace can refine.
I am not just a broken piece of furniture
That you can nail, fix, and so easily align
But a broken piece of a pot
I use to scratch these wounds of mine
Causing a grief I can barely define.
I am not just the broken bread of life
That is dipped in wine
In remembrance of Him who is divine
But the broken branch of a tree
That we call the true vine
And with which I can no longer twine.
I am not just a broken bond
But a broken heart dripping with pain
Slain by a cold-blooded beast
That led me on
Like a lamb to the slaughter house
This beast tore my life
Into pieces of defiled conscience
Alas, it still lives on, like a hungry lion,
Hunting for another of my kind
To break, slaughter, and devour.