What becomes of the bruised reeds
Whom Jesus never breaks
But we do?
They loved him once, and maybe still
But now they are broken and departed
Walking empty streets with splintered hearts.
Wounded and wounding those who come too close
They haunt the night alleys
The unplaces between the places,
They haunt our conscience too
If we dare to go there.
If we allowed those alleys back into our story
And remembered again how we walked them
And secretly still do
Then maybe we would be broken
By what we find there and
Broken by Jesus
Become a safe place
For those who loved him once