The broken Angel sits and prays,
Grateful to be cherished for another day.
Though she is flawed she’s glad to be,
Sitting on the shelf for all to see.
Parts that are wounded or perhaps even gone,
Doesn’t mean her existence is somehow wrong.
Her beauty it shines from a deeper place,
All that speaks of beauty and grace.
Each day I look at her form so small,
To me she is beautiful despite her fall.
Some carry their wounds for all to see,
Others bury them deep just like a seed.
We each share a journey and despite the fray,
We embrace our scars as we march through the day.
So gather up your hurt and pain,
And venture to see the beauty through the pain.
This broken Angel made of glass, she sits upon my sink.
And every time I look at her she causes me to think.
Of gratitude for all I have and for what I’m dreaming of,
Reminds me gifts are granted from heaven up above.
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