A sort of purgatory vision I had for jilted lovers...
Valley of Broken Hearts
How strange it is here in the Valley of Broken Hearts,
Where the muted sighs and feigned whispers of heart break drift upon the winds,
The winds that carry the hopes and dreams of foolish lovers out into the heavens,
Spreading them out to find their star-crossed paths in search of white.
Hope,
A word bitter in the mouths of those who lament,
Those who long despair,
Those who long for the gentle touch of a lover's hand once more,
The memory of the sensations lost within the twisting fog of doubting minds,
Enveloping and secreting away all facets of love,
Till nothing is left, but an empty shell with a foolish grin.
Take me now sweet reaper,
Let the blade of your scythe show me peace eternal,
Let your blackened eyes hold me in the comfort of Death,
Mother Death,
Lover of all and forsaker of none.
Hold me to thine bosom and show me love in earnest,
We your children of lost hope,
The lovers lost,
Ask forgiveness now,
Forgive us for having hope.
Great control of pace and pause eases the reader through the avenues of your idea.
So serious here and yet; do I detect a hint of a smile, an ambiguous wink, half hidden by the darkness?