I have two hearts,
or a heart divided,
I've never known quite which.
One is full
of love and grace;
the other, black as pitch.

Once the heart
was whole, and one,
with a fire in the center
Then nasty things
with scaly wings
descended, and it splintered.

The nasty things
with nasty wings
used their nasty little claws
to rip apart
the once-whole heart
with their nasty little paws.

Now the dark half broods
in blackened moods
and thinks not of the light.
It spits and scowls,
its sullen jowls
quiver, drawn in spite.

Whence came these things
with scaly wings
which ripped my heart to shreds?
Alas, mon frere,
I know not where
these demons lay their heads.