In a town far down below,
Lived a pretty, petty soul,
A lad who owned a lovely dome,
Shaped like a heart, her cherished home,
Painted bright in crimson glow.
She loved the house with all her might,
Maintained its red both day and night.
To her, that home was life indeed;
She loved all linked to it in deed,
That heart-shaped home, her soul’s delight.
One day, like every other time,
She walked around, her daily climb.
But then she saw what stilled her will:
A tiny hole that sought to kill
The perfect grace she held sublime.
Oh, helpless lad with tear-streaked face,
She wept alone in silent space.
Her home, her life, now torn apart,
So off she went with broken heart,
To find someone to mend the place.
She cried, “I seek a man to care,
To heal my home and with me share
A covenant both strong and true,
To love the heart-shaped house I knew,
And guard it like the breath of air.”
A man then came with a gentle hand,
She felt at peace and began to stand.
He worked a while to mend the pain,
And soon her heart was whole again,
With joy and hope, her soul was fanned.
But then she saw; his care grew thin,
His work grew careless deep within.
She spoke her fears, he raised his voice,
So she, though sad, made her own choice:
To send him from her home of sin.
He left but left a growing crack,
A wound that spread and held her back.
Still, love returned, another came,
She gave her trust, her heart aflame,
With dreams restored along the track.
Together in that heart-shaped space,
She woke with hope, a glowing face.
One day, he left to find a cure
To heal the cracks and make things sure,
But never did return to place.
Alone again, the lad went on,
Seeking a healer with hope not gone.
At first, she thought it was the end,
Till came a man like heaven’s send,
An angel walking with the dawn.
He fixed the home with the patient hands,
She thought at last she had found her man.
He loved the house as much as she,
And in her heart, she felt so free,
As if her pain had met its end.
But then, one day, a fight arose,
He raged and shattered all she chose.
Her freshly painted home lay bare,
No red was left, just black and air.
She painted darkness on her prose.
