The Man

Her heart was a pen and with it, she wrote,
Word by word, she captured every note,
With every day that passed, another page was filled,
Her heart never running dry, her words, instilled,
She wrote for a man, a man who she loved,
She wrote and wrote but her ink was blood,
 Each day it spilled but she didn't care,
She longed for a man who was never there,
Day by day the ink faded away,
Days were hours and hours passed fast,
Love was a curse that forever would last,
She continued to write until the ink ran still,
She captured the ending for no one else will,
Left to die, she placed her heart in a box,
Reminding everyone of the person they'd lost,
She knew they would forget of course,
But the man, he knew,
For he drew the ink,
He embedded the tool,
He gave the hope that led her to write,
And so she did night after night,
She hoped and hoped but the man never returned,
The paper was her skin,
And the man sculpted her urn.