I wrote this poem 4 years ago, but it's one of my favourites. I should start writing again. Love, once peaceful and angelical, sometimes causes a heart to rip a part. As the day turns to night, so shall our hearts turn also. Once a pure and sincere emotion, love now yields to the train wreck approaching, just as the glorious sun yields to the cold and harsh moon. Betrayal, mistrust, depression and rage soon embeds itself in the heart's veins, painfully separating and severing the heart in two. The memories, time spent together, presses down like a weight; a constant reminder of what is now lost. But time heals all wounds and the broken heart will be mended to be once again whole. Some memories will be forgotten and some will remain forever a little footprint on the heart. Soon another heart will begin to knock at the door and maybe love will follow, bringing peace and delightfulness that was never known before. But what if the damage is too severe and the heart does not mend? The veins too punctured and the weight too heavy? What if another heart begins to call? Is it possible to love again with a broken heart?