Wretched heart

Severed in the battle of confrontation.
Wounded in the light of reality.
The wretched heart calls it a mayday
For the sun rises in the land of love
Only when a heart is broken.
And so it happens and happens,
Till it becomes a habit

Shot with a sheerness of immoral time
Disabled for the frictionless frontiers
And fathom of the detached tales
The wretched heart calls it a mayday
For the songs of siren sound too harsh
For the veins of a broken soul
Till yes becomes no and no becomes a truth

Finally in the stale wars of wisdom
Only rationale wins a feast.
But what about the wretched heart?
That alarms for a gauze to hide the wound away,
And then no else a way is to be found,
Than to silence the moaning of the void
made by the million pieces of a wretched heart.