Holding his hand against her heart,

it beat against his palm,

warm, filled with hope and life,

he knew the night had come.

 

He clutched her heart in both his hands,

and heaved it to the ground,

pieces strewn about the floor,

her heart of stone was gone.

 

Guilt and shame had filled him,

not worth half her time,

empty, disconnected,

now the damage was undying.

 

There you have it.  A Piece of Me.  Wow, I haven’t written poetry in years; like at least 10.

What does it all mean? you ask.  Beats me, but I had to write it.  😉