A Torn Hearts

he said,
i have walked these roads,
in the heat of the sun,
aiming to a mirage coated distance,
and i have braved the cold,
and thorns that by night bite,
and sting,
and i have seen the beauty of spring,
lillies sprout from the broken grounds,
and the sadness of death,
willows that not a root longer can anchor,
and i have heard of doves and pigeons,
a difference i barely can tell,
and so have i of sweet melodies,
that sooth,
and that that a tear bring,
but hardly i an angel seen,
a beauty,
shall i say a treasure hard to find?

and now here a chest be,
partially unearthed,
from quite a far a golden lace shines,
each a step a colour change,
shall it of silver be?
of iron?
or a carpenters' wood made?

and what inside lies?
cold pieces of broken glass?
rusty pieces of blood tainted razor?
or shall it be an air that awaits to be free?
to whizz upon my face,
up to the windy ways,

and to this thought
scared
a heart torn,
i shall away walk,
and behind won't look,
change the course that my feet a trail make,

and so off he walks,
leaving prints that turns make,
and days shall come,
and the clouds once shall open,
and these prints away be washed,
and never another reminder left...


©2011