My heart yearns for the love I bear
To many has my heart been undone
To wish I am thankful, grateful, and beautiful.
I gather the style that bewitches the mundane life form we call men.
How simple can they be, predictable even
I am not one to trifle, but harm me and everything you hold 'dear' in your so-called heart, will die.
I have many confessions under the bridge, that I have no interest in sharing until my last breath.
My lines and writing are all I have left of my quarter stone of a heart.
I see only Strings of Hope.