Owls and Orchids

image from http://www.lonelyplanet.com

“The past is the beginning of the beginning and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn.”     H. G. Wells

Have you ever wondered why the day follows night

Seen the sunrise and wondered if its alright

Have you ever wondered why the person you waited for all your life

Turns out to be the one who can hurt you more than ever in your life

If the heart is made for love why does it need to be broken

For all the wise words spoken have said that love is not a token

Meant to be given in jest

Then thrown away with the rest.

Is this pain felt inside meant to let you know you’re alive

I’m waiting for the lesson I should learn

From this time spent in pain

Yet none ever seems to come

Does this mean I have to go through this again

My heart handed out on a platter

Filled with love, hope and laughter

Not to be used like fodder and shattered

Like a tool to be used of no value and cast aside

Leaving me bereft and without anything but pride.

Or is that simply an illusion

Something more to add to the confusion

Should I wish for a heart of stone

Never more to feel so cold and alone

It’s the numbness I now crave

In the darkness of the grave.

For I want no more of this pain

Useless wasted time flushed down the drain

Tears hidden inside flooding through me like rain.

image from http://www.picstopin.com

“She’d cried over a broken heart before. She knew what that felt like, and it didn’t feel like this. Her heart felt not so much broken as just … empty. It felt like she was an outline empty in the middle. The outline cried senselessly for the absent middle. The past cried for the present that was nothing.”   ― Ann Brashares, Sisterhood Everlasting

The human  heart is made to love, has an infinite capacity to love. That’s what I’ve read so many times and heard from so many people. It seems that, if all the wise people I’ve read and heard from are correct, that it’s almost a given that the heart is meant to be broken and mended again and again. Yet I have to ask myself, to what purpose?  Is there some unknown quality granted to a heart which feels torn asunder over and over again that I am somehow missing? Really, it’s a serious conundrum. What possible purpose could be served by having to go through so much agony over and over again?