He walked doubting,
Alone,
Questioning rejection,
Like a lunatic crazed by his own heart.
What matters now,
That their last link was broken?
Exhausted he sits,
He rests.
Is he no longer believing?
In quietness he contemplates the procession of his own feelings.
Some were murdered by others,
Some still exist,
And new ones are born.
Between the seeds and the flowers,
His heart is not empty.
He is a man,
An adventurer,
More of a saint than a charlatan,
Who hopes to save their souls.
Broken hearts will mend with white flower,
A second innocence,
A second chance.
He picks it up and walks again,
To her….
For nothing is without hope when you believe.
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