The willfull swords of stealers
hitting the wounds of the stolen
the mournful work of the healers
healing that which is fallen
The wandering hope of the fragile
broken by the sturdy strength of fear
that curious hurt, broken, yet agile
that sullen hit of fate that all hear
"Which one are you, dear heart"
she asked him, crying and saddened
"The one which falls apart,
the one who leaves those he knows maddened"
"So be it," said she, eyes aglow
"You've stolen me, struck me with a sword
left to be healed by none that I know?
I may be fragile, but I will be heard."
With the anger of torn loves,
she turned away and left him there
"No my dear, I hold the hope of doves,
with every step you take, my hear leaves"
"I am the fragile,
And I am the stolen...
And there you are,
Stealing me again..."
