The Collection of Broken Hearts
In the moonlit dark, where shadows play,
A man collects hearts thrown away.
With a sack on his back, he silently treads,
Gathering pieces of love long dead.
A heart of glass, shattered and cold,
Whispers of promises left untold.
Another of gold, tarnished and bent,
Echoing love that came and went.
A wooden heart, carved with care,
Now splintered from love’s despair.
A heart of stone, heavy and gray,
Weighed down by words that went astray.
They sit together, this solemn collection,
Bound by threads of lost affection.
Each one beats, soft and slow,
A rhythm of ache only they know.
Yet through the cracks, light may gleam,
A tender hope, a fragile dream.
For broken hearts still dare to mend,
And find new love around the bend.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (1)
Something to think about on this one. Cleaning up broken hearts is one hard job in making people feel better.