The Heart Attack

Death becomes her in a centrivical blurr.
Her world hath spun into an infinite err.
Sorrow succeeds, sits and bleeds,
with portly tears while down on her knees.
Regress or digest?
No matter the outcome fear seethes from her chest.
Tick tock as the heart derails,
while the sun still shines over eyes so pale.
She looks in the glass to find her face,
only to uncover what has taken its place.
Innately frail yet outwardly strong.
This is the mask she has worn for so long.
Oh candid voice, please mind my excuse.
To cower and fold is hers to choose,
and collapse she may; tremble she might.
Long love at last is near in sight.
Here lies a choice in red and blue.
Violets and roses can bloom untrue.
So many a time they have withered before.
What dreams may come if the heart explores.
What bliss may be felt is she learns to fly.
She could bury her pain and kiss it goodbye.
Alas, this hope is feeble and foe,
to the crying game she has come to know.
Young dream be still; weather the storm.
Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn.
Young dream be calm; it is time for bed.
For long love at last, her heart is dead.