Poetry - Nocturna #8

Say it isn't so,

dear Valentine,

oh, the butterflies

she runs outside, before her time

to witness an enchanted moment

a cherished memory

one of her very fondest dream-come-trues,

but where has he gone

or where have i went

where is his heart?

one star passed, she crashes down

she calls his name,

she wonders

she weeps

Saint Valentine,

how could you do this to me?

her hands left empty,

her hope left torn

she goes back to breath,

and further to mourn