Broken Telephones

Questions and more questions,
Like the incessant ringing of
a wired telephone,
Never ceasing.

They pound at the doors of my mind
with chaos and confusion.

I turn away,
Leaving them in the cold to mend,
Hoping, praying, they’d age
with the passage of time;

But like broken puzzle pieces they lay,
Taunting me in every corner of life,
With gaping wounds
And missing fragments
Still to be found.

The thoughts, they endure,
Like riddles without reply.
Their echoes grow louder
With each passing sigh.

I didn’t know it then,
I don’t know it now.

If only I could whisper solace to
the broken telephones of my mind.