• Old, gray, worn,
    Ella lay on her bed,
    Torn,
    Between facing the day,
    Without him to hold her hand,
    Or to let reality wash her away.


    Hurt, scarred, burned,
    Hans lay in the street,
    Holding,
    For when he could see her again,
    Though bombs rained down,
    With sights that could make him insane.

    Oblivous, blinded, naive,
    Ingrid holds him,
    Tight,
    On the ride of her life,
    Over the open, open ocean,
    Her love as sharp as a knife,


    Love's a casualty,
    that not cares for who it cuts down,
    for who takes the fall,
    and who leaves wearing its crown.


    Lover's death,
    unresolved.
    Lover's waiting,
    unanswered.
    Lover's joy,
    unreturned.

    Ella's plight,
    it leads her to the dark,
    to the night when she cries,
    gives herself to that lark,
    which took her to Heaven's gates,
    and she answered the cry of an angel's bugle

    Hans' wait,
    it lead him home to what he denied.
    Blinded by his tears he cries,
    dear loved long gone because she tried,
    to stay in her fair land,
    but left to the cry of an angel's bugle.

    Ingrid's love,
    it lead her to her room where envy bred,
    making her unleash her cries,
    of vengeance and sadness,
    her beloved couldn't stop her,
    from answering the cry of an angel's bugle.


    Love's a casualty,
    Making peace,
    Leaving chaos,

    Three stories so different,
    yet so alike,
    in that love begins different,
    becomes different,
    yet ends the same.

    All's fair in love and war,
    blinding with beautiful light,
    making deaf sane ears,
    easing pain,
    and easing fears.

    Wonderful love,
    it can never be sated,
    for once you're blinded its light,
    you never see the wounds it created.

    All love stories end the same:

    Begins with a smile.

    Ends with a tear.