Soft hearts are rent from weak chests,
Whose sorrow beaten shells like stones erode,
And crumble to dust after a long and slow torment.
Or rather shatter against the spike of the pick
Whose name is deceit, betrayal, hate.
Much better to rid weak chests of soft hearts,
Replaced with a cold heart of stone.
For stone endures the fires and ice,
For it is there that a heart of stone is born,
Not cast, but beaten by time, by the mountains wrath.
A heart of stone beats against a chest of steel,
safe from those whose will it would be to break it.
Unbreakable, not because it is strong,
But because it cannot be touched.
A stone heart feels not what flesh must endure.
A stone heart cannot be broken.
A steel chest cannot be rent, nor parted.
It stays closed to all who wish to open it,
locked to all. For there are none
Who would wish theirs to touch a heart of stone.
And so it must be, to escape.
Not to endure, but to elude.
A soft heart is rent from a weak chest.
And so a soft heart is instead replaced,
By one so undesirable so as to be a heart of stone.
Soft hearts are rent from weak chests,
Whose sorrow beaten shells like stones erode,
And crumble to dust after a long and slow torment.
Or rather shatter against the spike of the pick.
A heart of stone, a chest of steel.
Much, much better, I would think.
A heart that never breaks,
A heart of stone, a chest of steel.
For that is never shattered from having been dropped upon the ground,
If it was never picked up to begin with.
Points: 710
Reviews: 14
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