a heart, tender or not
can surely fall to pieces
when the chaos is just right

should I then,
of sound mind and body,
leave my heart with Fate
as its guide?

Fate, the wicked witch with
the smile like diamonds,
the eyes like jewels
-- beautiful, but cold and sharp,
not a weapon to mess with--
and the mood as fickle as
a Midwestern winter?

She opens up her arms to me,
greets me like an old friend,
perhaps a far-away aunt
with little else to do,
being a lonely woman,
that Fate

She tells me stories about love,
adventure, happiness, life

and I want it all

she fills me up with hopeful wishes,
gives me optimism to drink
until I'm stumbling across the floor,
and it all slides easily down my throat

she bids me farewell,
and at her persuasive demand,
I have left my heart,
helpless and alone,
in her care

little do I know,
as soon as I turn around,
she drops it

it shatters into shards of red glass,
splattering little ruby droplets all
over the floor

and when I return to pick up
my poor,
beloved,
delicate little heart,
I find Fate has disappeared,
leaving the mess behind
for me to clean up