That is how the gods wrote our story,
Equal parts tears and blood,
Running between and
Connecting the broken lines
Or painting red, entire blank pages
From wounded broken hearts.
…
Melancholy verses spill,
From a shaking quill
In shivering hands,
Paper cuts trace
Scarlet marks on a blank page,
Bleeding poetry into broken lines
From what is left of the heart.
Wabi Sabi 