Grot, Snot and Broken Hearts
LITTLE SMITE
There was a girl called Little Smite
A troubled girl and not quite right
Her parents didn't show her love
Beaten, cold and living rough
She often came to this dark room
Walls did grope with hands of gloom
Grabbed her sides, clawed her skin
Letting all the demons in
Little child of grot and dirt
Begrudging heart of snot and hurt
Her eyes were made of brightest blue
A tragic loss but beauty knew
That if it grasped to her small soul
Suffering would cloud her world
Better things would be bestowed
If only darkness she'd behold
And so our God seems to forsake
But really he did show her grace
For Little Smite was proud and raw
And glory was to suffer more.
C. S. Whatley
A troubled girl and not quite right
Her parents didn't show her love
Beaten, cold and living rough
She often came to this dark room
Walls did grope with hands of gloom
Grabbed her sides, clawed her skin
Letting all the demons in
Little child of grot and dirt
Begrudging heart of snot and hurt
Her eyes were made of brightest blue
A tragic loss but beauty knew
That if it grasped to her small soul
Suffering would cloud her world
Better things would be bestowed
If only darkness she'd behold
And so our God seems to forsake
But really he did show her grace
For Little Smite was proud and raw
And glory was to suffer more.
C. S. Whatley
TWO HEARTS
There was a boy, he had a heart
It wasn’t safe, he wasn’t smart
Love returned it on command
So his he held within his hand
Between his fingers it pumped, it throbbed
No tiny hurt could be forgot
For not to hide was this boys sorrow
His broken heart still here tomorrow
With yet another burden to bare
With yet another worry and care
The blood seeped through the little gaps
Of each four fingers that he had
No tears enough to heal the wound
So he sat, heart strings he tuned
And played a song of broken dreams
Of once lost love and now torn seams
And that was when a girl came by
She too did sit, she too did cry
Her heart within her hand she held
With loneliness and pain it swelled
She too had strung her heart to play
The songs of every yesterday
And there they sat, beneath the moon
Playing both the same dark tune
Until the sun did turn pale yellow
When girl and boys tune did mellow
They stopped and looked into the sky
Gazed upon a new day rise
They saw black melt to pink to red
Their frowns replaced by smiles instead
With fingers loose they crept together
Curled and tightly locked forever
As if the wind did whisper soft
Both girl and boys pain forgot
Their hearts did burst into great flames
And within their chests were born again
C. S. Whatley
It wasn’t safe, he wasn’t smart
Love returned it on command
So his he held within his hand
Between his fingers it pumped, it throbbed
No tiny hurt could be forgot
For not to hide was this boys sorrow
His broken heart still here tomorrow
With yet another burden to bare
With yet another worry and care
The blood seeped through the little gaps
Of each four fingers that he had
No tears enough to heal the wound
So he sat, heart strings he tuned
And played a song of broken dreams
Of once lost love and now torn seams
And that was when a girl came by
She too did sit, she too did cry
Her heart within her hand she held
With loneliness and pain it swelled
She too had strung her heart to play
The songs of every yesterday
And there they sat, beneath the moon
Playing both the same dark tune
Until the sun did turn pale yellow
When girl and boys tune did mellow
They stopped and looked into the sky
Gazed upon a new day rise
They saw black melt to pink to red
Their frowns replaced by smiles instead
With fingers loose they crept together
Curled and tightly locked forever
As if the wind did whisper soft
Both girl and boys pain forgot
Their hearts did burst into great flames
And within their chests were born again
C. S. Whatley
THE ONE YOU LEFT BEHIND
There he stood, a mountain before him
But clouded was his path to even reach the foot
Shoe laces tangled in brambles and bugs
Sticky slugs slipping the soles of his sneakers
How the hell was he meant to tackle this?
Tall trees with branches like the arms of giants
Swung at him with his fears carried by the wind
A thousand swallows sung his sorrows
Consumed the salt of his breath
And pooped the dirt of his hatred
He could hear the caw of the crows that circled him
Mimicking the circles of his thoughts
That mountain of which he faced
True happiness he knew awaits upon its summit
But how to move when the earth around his present moment
Had grown around his feet
Stuck in this place he did not want to be
This forest was consuming him
Sunlight no longer looming in any small place he could see
Kept in the shadows was a flicker upon some bark
And from it crept a little girl with hair like ash and soot
Stood before him, held out her little hand
She spoke in whispers with a soft sour tone
A twisted hidden wisdom of this overgrown
Her eyes were wide, red with tears, blue with hope
He couldn't hear her little mope, not amongst the wretched noise
Pushed her away and told her to shoo, leave him be and let him go
And so she burrowed into the overgrowth
She scurried through thorns and battled the weeds
Until her tiny fight left her broken at the foot of the Spirit Tree
Opened her mouth and she recited her tale
Of a poor man trapped in the dark of his sorrow
She asked if the Spirit would trap her instead
And took out her heart and at its base she lay there
And as the Spirits great roots upturned the earth
Covered the girl in his grot and grasp
A path opened up from the man to the mountain
The ground lay down flat and the skies cleared and opened
And freely he walked from that place to his dreams
Not knowing the love he left back in those trees.
C. S. Whatley
But clouded was his path to even reach the foot
Shoe laces tangled in brambles and bugs
Sticky slugs slipping the soles of his sneakers
How the hell was he meant to tackle this?
Tall trees with branches like the arms of giants
Swung at him with his fears carried by the wind
A thousand swallows sung his sorrows
Consumed the salt of his breath
And pooped the dirt of his hatred
He could hear the caw of the crows that circled him
Mimicking the circles of his thoughts
That mountain of which he faced
True happiness he knew awaits upon its summit
But how to move when the earth around his present moment
Had grown around his feet
Stuck in this place he did not want to be
This forest was consuming him
Sunlight no longer looming in any small place he could see
Kept in the shadows was a flicker upon some bark
And from it crept a little girl with hair like ash and soot
Stood before him, held out her little hand
She spoke in whispers with a soft sour tone
A twisted hidden wisdom of this overgrown
Her eyes were wide, red with tears, blue with hope
He couldn't hear her little mope, not amongst the wretched noise
Pushed her away and told her to shoo, leave him be and let him go
And so she burrowed into the overgrowth
She scurried through thorns and battled the weeds
Until her tiny fight left her broken at the foot of the Spirit Tree
Opened her mouth and she recited her tale
Of a poor man trapped in the dark of his sorrow
She asked if the Spirit would trap her instead
And took out her heart and at its base she lay there
And as the Spirits great roots upturned the earth
Covered the girl in his grot and grasp
A path opened up from the man to the mountain
The ground lay down flat and the skies cleared and opened
And freely he walked from that place to his dreams
Not knowing the love he left back in those trees.
C. S. Whatley
