The questing heart is ever beating blind,
Its blood a medley interlaced with pain,
Red yearning surges out like brandywine,
Grey longing drizzles in like chilly rain.

Such tides of sorrow seem to swell too strong
For any merely mortal frame to bear:
The dread that what is said is taken wrong;
The fear the one we reach for doesn't care.

And when the pitch of two hearts match at last,
The resonance may shatter both their lives
To fall upon the ground like shards of glass,
But where the fragments mingle, love survives.

Among the ruins questing hearts console,
And broken lives may make each other whole.

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