How far must the run be, to escape love’s cold hand?
I’ve suffered a broken heart.
Yet, a crushed heart to instant death I gladly would have claimed.
The determination of a love’s unstable matter released by the broken heart,
Will either mend itself back together or pull itself farther apart.
Great is the heart that is mended.
Unlucky the heart that drifts away
Slowly tortured, left for dead, as if in a tornado’s wake.
But be watchful of the mended heart. Although the outer looks to have no change
The magnitude of pain that it has suffered would not permit it to function the same.
The pain of a broken heart leaves the beckon cries for death.
Yet is only granted torture, which comes from the open arms of hell.
To mend a broken heart, the task is far and great as a river raging long.
Now I have succumbed to what the wise women of old had told.
To never fall in love is the sacrifice which keeps the heart a whole.
