I read somewhere a long while back
There is a thing many men search for
To fill in the deepest shades of black
With shades only a woman’s heart can know
As the story dove deeper into suspense
A broken heart took refuge in its own hurt
And spoke only in a tongue of defense
For hurt is the consequence a broken heart births
And, as he walked the concrete sidewalks
The good Lord shown His face in the irony of autumn leaves
How hope is not a seasonal thought to be lost
But, rather is hard as hell as is easy to hold on to
As the night sky filled brightly by a confident moon
Twisted around by the spinning of the earth
A change of heart blew in quickly like a changing tune
As beautifully as a women’s soul might sing
But, before my eyes could read a single word further
I felt a sense of unity with the author of the character
Knowing a story of fiction had never been truer
For he knew that faith was as fortress that a lover’s loss could easily crumble