It can be bent, and twisted and scraped,
But there is a point at which every heart breaks.
Try as some may, to keep bearing the pain,
The enemy attacks again and again..
Until one day the heart, lonely and black,
Takes a blow once again and exposes a crack.
With all of its might the heart holds it together,
Praying this be the last of the stormy weather.
Deeper the cracks, larger the holes,
Peices fall off, but nobody knows.
So hold in your hands the heart that you own,
So that you shall still have it, when you have grown old.
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