Tales of the broken always make for fantastic stories,
For tragedies are only interesting after they have already occurred—
When no one remembers how truly terrible they were
And it has been mourned long enough for life to begin again.
So gather ‘round for a song that seems to write itself, and
Watch it unfold into another lesson, burned into the pages of a book lost to time.
Only broken hearts write poetry and sing sad songs.
For they have nothing else to speak of but the pain that they have endured.
And if there is anything to be taken from the tales of a broken heart,
It is that, a foreign heart is still a stranger, no matter how we wish to meld,
And another’s venom translates well into damaged love and shattered minds.
So the sinners’ secrets are taken to the grave,
Locked under the innocence of a tombstone
And a skeleton to destroyed to have been remembered as human.
But there are no Gods to rule among the dead.
Shallow graves never hold dark secrets,
For their gravity lies in the weight of what could have been.
Yet still, the graveyard is full of stories that will never be told,
And those that have been told to generations shrouded in a facade of caution.
You will only know the name of this cautionary tale
Through the whispers of a forgotten tragedy, a lost prayer,
And details that let the imagination run wild.
There is something beautiful that lies in a dying prayer, for
There is a God that only the dying pray to, a deity all His own,
And he hears words that only fall from your lips in your most desperate hour.
Like all things lovely, there is poison that lies beneath the beauty,
And your last breath becomes the only thing they remember you by.
Your legend turns into a satire of a life half lived.
Somewhere, a galaxy is born and another dies.
Becoming black holes lost in space, unaware of anything but themselves.
A heart breaks while another is stitched to hold itself together once more.
Allowing the cycle of rebirth to begin anew.
And the souls of the broken form a new path, with hope of a happy life,
But their grave marker will still read the same to those who behold it,
Viewed with an ignorance and pity reserved for tragedies that break the heart.