The Beauty in Brokenness

Amidst the art, two hearts I see,
One pristine, one broken, both to be,
Displayed for all to gaze upon,
Their stories hidden, yet to dawn.

The first, so perfect, flawless, pure,
Unblemished by life's trials obscure,
A heart unscathed by love's sharp edges,
Untouched by pain, by heartbreak's ledges.

The second, though shattered, on display,
Rebuilt, and glued, time and time again,
A heart that bears the scars of life,
Yet still beats on, through joy and strife.

Which heart, I ponder, is more divine?
The flawless one or the broken shrine?
For though the first is perfect in design,
The second holds beauty that's refined.

For the broken heart has weathered the storm,
And though it's cracked, it's still warm,
Its scars and cracks, a testament to grace,
To love that endures, and pain that's faced.

So, in this gallery, I stand in awe,
Of two hearts, each with its story to draw,
And though the pristine one catches the eye,
It's the broken one that makes me sigh.

For beauty, I now see, is not in perfection,
But in the resilience of a heart's affection,
And in the brokenness, we find a way,
To mend, to heal, and to love another day.