Those things which break under pressure
Bricks. Stone walls crumbling. Wooden beams shattered.
The loud crack echoes as the splinters - once bonded - separate.
Of all these things which break
None breaks as quietly, nor as thoroughly
As the human heart.
It breaks like a lonely whisper.
Echoing across a field
Into a void.
When faced with the rejection of strangers
I find this strength of steel inside
Strong. Able to bear the weight of words
But when wounds form deep from those softer sources.
From those fountains who are meant to flow out love,
This silent pressure grips.
No longer am I made of steel - but of dust.
I crumble, an avalanche of stones tumbling to the floor, in pieces.
And as the wall falls, the stones bury me.
No longer does the wood beam hold firm. It cracks.
I hear it break. I feel the splinters as they rip away from each other
Driving deep into my heart as they do.