Broken Pieces of My Heart

I walk along a patched old sidewalk and
Pick up small pieces I find along the way
Pieces of my broken heart, tiny, cracked, old
Worn out beyond the counting of years.
And I wonder how to fix these pieces
They seem beyond repair or hope, they
Lack the energy they once held for loving.
Now, I hold my hand upon that center of my
Chest where the remains of my heart reside.
I try to keep what is left there intact
Though, if I looked my hand would come away
Stained with red called grief, pain, agony.
I do not comprehend any way to mend this
Sad, old, broken heart exeplified by these
Broken pieces along the sidewalk and what is left
Inside my lonely chest. One step at a time
I make, trying to miss the broken black places
Of a sidewalk with too many hard memories
Of its own to deal with in the hard light.
I cannot find a way to heal.
I cannot find a way through the memories.
The very memories I once screamed that
They could not take away from me...
Keep me lying awake, wet-faced in the night.
A mother should not have babies who
Are victims of thieves in the night.
And the babies were of ages where they
Were fully able to be cognizant
Aware of being ripped away from me!