Behind a broken heart waits an aging sun, plotting to break free from the insipid cloud's claw and run on feet that defies gravity. But Broken, I tell you, is a homeless vagrant, battling the sea with a lion's heart even if Hope smirks at him perilously poised on live crackling wires.
There's a river flowing inside his heart that feels empty because Life in it sleeps in a trance to a sad lullaby Orpheus played on his lyre. He waits for his darling's kisses on a spring day, when the purple crocuses will bloom and tickle awake the sleeping fishes and the river in him will again pulsate to his lover's touch.
If my poetry doesn't rhyme, would you still care to sway along to its emotions?. This is an unrhymed poem for broken hearts because battered hearts still beat beneath troubled waters, Perhaps a little slow, but then a rhythm it picks up, when you find the right beat to groove to it and make it your own.