A heart divided: once defined by what it loves, is lost.
No longer lying flush against the one it treasured most
Divided in its yearning, it pays the steepest cost
Of losing its own meaning, within its troubled host.

For what worth is it to offer, when what it values is so fickle?
Malleable at its core, inconstant and noncommittal
The mistake here, perhaps, is that it knows itself so little
And so holds such integrity that shatters much like crystal.

O wretchedly divided heart, where lies your path forward?
For you to know, define yourself: not by what you last adored
Want makes for a poor compass, wakened easy with a word
Fading into distant nothingness as interest grows bored.

Rather, heart, seek out what it is that gives you peace.
Desires flare and ebb, lasting scarce beyond release
But the balm that soothes a soul is oft above caprice
And brings with it such joy that nestles deep within, at ease.

Alas, wisdom in rhyming verse comes quicker to a poet's quill
Than for such sense be asserted, in her mind or stubborn will.
Seeking out what gives one peace is no easy, painless task
For a heart divided, lost and wandering, is unsure what to ask.



Penned by my hand on the 21st of Miraman, in the year 945 AF.