Blue Hearts, Red Shoes

Pity those hearts so bruised by broken arrows,
they turn as lakes in silent nights,
when the moonlight stains all things blue,
and the water sits too crippling still.

Pity those hearts gone hollow from sorrow,
bled so empty like forgotten caves,
where no man ever dares venture,
as the dark is no place for the goldest of treasures.

Pity those hearts too afraid of that boy with the bow,
who takes aim as his game,
and plays, both eyes shut closed,
watching stars shine so black on crossed lovers he sewed.

But pity is saved most for those hearts just so blue,
they wear the reddest of shoes,
clapping heels round the hour,
for that home once so sweet but now tastes so sour.