Unmade Beds

what will I do with this broken life?
Full of unmade beds and half hearted hands
What will I do with space in my chest?
An empty space that longs for
Lightening and songs of Christ
What will I do with all this will?
The will of one who is not broken
But triumphant in every fallen promise
And rainy night time mistake
The will of my heart is what hurts me
If I only I were able to hang my head
And take on the sadness so that it
Covered every part of me
If only I were able to be the death
And live the death and nothing else
But I am triumphant searching for
Something I don’t’ know exists