What happens to a broken heart?

Is it forgot, and left to fight for hope?

Does it crumble and crush, so that all that’s left is

Rubble?

Or maybe it cries like an infant with hunger?

Or is it a broken window, that only with a skilled hand

Can it be mended?

Does it cry out but can’t be heard, like a fallen tree in an

empty forest?

Does it blue and black like a bruise?

Or Does it just snooze?

Because it feels the blues?

Or maybe it gropes

In the hope.

Of one day being fixed.