The surface scratched with wounds, one cut
after another, bleeding, but
it asks for more 'cause life stands still
when not one cut lets sorrow spill.
A surface open to all beings
yet locked within a chamber, stings
as everyone we meet adds on
their own dark mark, remains upon
the surface that we can't protect
'cause every love shares its effect.
Willingly, we all present,
the reasons for, so evident
that warming feeling is well worth
the scars it leaves after the hurt.
This surface hides within a cage,
beating each day at it with rage.
Taught never to give up its fight,
as long as nothing slows its might
Only one cure to mend one broken,
it lies in time, in sweet words spoken.
It can be shattered, torn, or bruised,
leaving the owner, scorned, confused.
This surface, with us from the start.
The once clean surface of the heart.
