Field Of Hearts Poem by Shiloh Thompson

Feeling little pieces of my soul break,
Tiny shards and large slices falling,
Innocence broken by one fatal stroke,
I stand shivering in a field of lonely hearts.

With eyes wide open for the first time,
The hearts beckoning the weary traveler,
Seeing naught but the beauty of the hearts,
This traveler can see the thorns they hide.

Daring to step out into the field of play,
Acres and acres of these hearts bloom,
Yet two seem to draw the eye closer,
These stand out in the crowd of millions.

Reaching out to the two lone hearts,
Each as different as night and day,
One withered while the other just a bud,
I caress the thorny stems ignoring the pain.

Feeling the blood run from the wounds,
The withered heart crumbles into dust,
While its counterpart eagerly reaches out,
I withdraw my hands to ponder the situation.

The withered heart-flower versus the budding,
An old love crumbling forlorn in the wind,
While the new grows to an unknown potential,
A comparison of passions in the depths of my soul.

Standing alone in the middle of the field of hearts,
Smiling as the new grows from the ashes old,
Caressing the stem oblivious to the thorns,
I spread my wings to the glow of new love.