Will the remnants of this heart support this flaming passion,
Like the dagger burning for revenge in the hands of an assassin,
Like the deceit ignited within the eyes of a pretender,
Like the hate burning in the words of an offender?
Will the remnants of this heart be enough for the survival
Of love crawling through the agony of hate's revival,
Of courage seeping through the fear of failure,
Of modesty resisting the lure of pride's tempter?
Will the remnants of this heart support this flaming passion?
Will they be enough to sustain this maddening obsession?
Could little pieces put together crush this sickening pride?
Could little pieces of this heart refill this hallowing inside?
Will they suffice and create a foundation for this infatuating love?
Will they bring the motivation needed in the pursuit of
The breath of life protected by the carcass of bones so rough?
And... what if... the remnants of this heart will not be enough...?
