Static Hymns for Broken Hearts

A cycle of poems «The Night Won’t Let Me Forget You»

No choir sings. No candles glow.
Just crackling waves on an old FM.
I kneel not to a god I know -
But to the sound of you, still on.

We used to pray in minor keys,
Our hands held tight on Sunday drives.
You’d hum a tune through falling leaves -
A hymn that kept my soul alive.

Now every station plays your name,
In snippets lost between the noise.
A laugh, a sigh, a burst of flame -
The ghost of us without a voice.

I scan the dial from dark to dawn,
Chasing the signal, weak and thin.
Like faith reborn where love is gone -
A sinner singing into wind.

I don’t believe in heaven’s gate,
Not anymore, not since you left.
But when the static starts to wait…
I swear I hear your breath.

These are the static hymns for broken hearts,
Songs we sing when worlds fall apart.
No altar, no grace, no saving light -
Just echoes burning through the night.
I lift my voice though no one hears…
Still worshipping the ghost of years.

I found our mixtape in the glove,
Tape chewed by time and summer heat.
It skips right at the part you loved -
That line you whispered: "Stay with me."

I press play slow, let silence bleed,
Then sudden – there - your voice appears.
Like resurrection from the seed
Of all the pain that lasts for years.

I close my eyes and bow my head,
Hands folded like a child once taught.
Not to a god above, but dread,
And love that couldn’t be caught.

The world says move. The sky says live.
But how can I when you’re still near?
In every crackle, every give
Of broken sound, I feel you here.

These are the static hymns for broken hearts,
Songs we sing when worlds fall apart.
No altar, no grace, no saving light -
Just echoes burning through the night.
I lift my voice though no one hears…
Still worshipping the ghost of years.

Maybe prayer was never words,
Maybe it’s just ache and air.
The way a heart still beats, absurd,
When nothing’s left to care.

And maybe saints aren’t pure or wise -
Maybe they’re those who grieve too loud,
Who sing their loss beneath gray skies,
And scream into the clouded crowd:
"I believed! I gave it all!"
"Even if I lost the call."

So let this frequency be mine -
Not peace, not hope, but sacred pain.
Where love and loss and sound combine…
And nothing’s lost. Just rearranged.

So I’ll keep tuning, late and slow,
Through storms of noise and empty bands.
If heaven won’t take what I let go…
Then let the static be my hands.

Let it cradle every tear,
Every dream I can’t release.
These static hymns for broken hearts…
Are all that hold my soul in peace.