Friday, May 15, 2009

broken hearts scatter like pink and red rose petals,
softly falling from the plump dimpled hand of a flower girl
who cares not that they fall, only that they are pretty
when they fall
and that everyone looks at her, so pretty.

broken hearts lie waiting for the breeze
to lift them
to carry them up and away from the dirty, lonely floor;
but curious, admiring eyes simply stare,
breathe and whisper their compliments,
and then turn away

forgotten hearts cry silently,
screams all gone;
decide to wither, or resiliently absorb the moisture of their tears,
still waiting for that hopeful gust to swoop down,
pick them up and hold them,
if only for a short distance;
long enough for them to feel themselves alive again,
floating, dancing on air,
just once more

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