The Hearts Lament

Have you ever felt a pain greater than the pain of a broken heart? The sting and emptiness, the abyss left behind by someone, most of the time, who took a piece of you with them. It’s paralyzing. Stops you in your tracks. Your body freezes, a cold sweat runs down your body. Your hands feel immovable, your mind malfunctioning. The one part of your entire being capable of creating the pyramids of Giza, the part that looked up to the stars and dreamed of exploring the vast open space one day, the part that allows us to communicate in hundreds of languages and connect with the world, yet…becomes completely incapacitated at the instance that the heart is dealt a treacherous blow. It’s only natural. The heart of man. Our mind contains our reasoning, our ideas, and habits…but the heart holds our life force. The heart pumps through us the very force that wakes us up every morning, looking forward to each day when it is given a reason to beat. But, that force can be taken, it has so for many, including I. The heart now stung by the sharp spear of lament, like the sting of the yellow jacket. No. That would be more attractive compared to the sting of the heart. This pain…cannot be fathomed or comprehended even by the most emotionally fit. It chokes you. It suffocates your lungs with lament, clouds your mind with regret, fills your eyes with disparity. Death is a luxury compared to the suffering of the heart. Darkness overwhelms you, it chains you to a prison cell devoid of any sunlight. With every beat thereafter, life slowly becomes insignificant. You begin to lose sight of all and fall into the abyss called misery. Wailing and sobbing, tears hit the floor like bullets. You are alone. Completely alone. You walk through life on a worn string, ready to break. Smiles become artificial, laughter becomes sore, joy is dead. The sun no longer gives of warmth, the shadows become your home. What can quench the unyielding beat of a shattered life force, what is there left after everything is taken, how can a man devoid of purpose live his life when there is nothing for him to live for. No amount of mental pain, or physical difficulty, can compare to the suffering imposed upon the man with a fractured heart. A broken, crushed, and defeated heart. A heart thrown out onto the filthy mud of the side of an unsightly road, under the dark dismal clouds pouring down their own tears or lament unto the ground below, as if in mourning for this man. Such is the suffering of the man stripped of his purpose. Even more so. Have you ever felt a pain greater than the pain of a broken heart?