He Came, Broken

The truth is coming down like a fist again,
Hard as stone; cold as ice,
Breaks into another tidal wave
Towering over him.

The storm thunders ahead.
He hurries for shelter.

Dark clouds following everywhere,
He finds a cave, wry and hollow,
Echoing howls, he turns back,
as the sky begins to shower needles.

And came home a broken man.

Held my hand, he said no more.
Came home a broken man.
Turned away, no more he said.
He came to me broken.

Clutched in his hand a torn photograph,
Puzzles make no sense when they are halved.
Light within dark, and dark within light;
That's why thorns have roses, and roses have thorns.

Yet, the next piece is carried away again.
The wind blows stronger.
Something just cannot be snatched, he once said.
The hurricane twirls bigger.

Every reason; right done wrong
He came home, broken.
Every deed; wrong done right
Came to me, broken.

Standing on a cliff, he sees it in a distance.
The lightning strikes sharper.

Black waves swirling everytime,
He finds a wall, high and painful.
Troublesome current, he pushes back,
As tsunami tides cast down like shadows.

And came to me a broken man.