When they first married

Their love was new,

Full of sincerity,

Passion too.

She could fix him

And he would see,

That though there would be hardships,

“This was meant to be.”

But as time passed

Their love turned dark,

His anger fueled

Spouts of violent sparks.

His hands like chains

Bound her tight,

In the coldest hours

Of the night.

And in these times

When she would plea,

Her weak heart ensured her,

“This is meant to be.”

Bruises bloomed

Where love once danced,

Yet she forced a smile,

Feebly entranced.

For in the early hours of morning

When she most felt free,

She would cover her wounds and murmur,

“This is meant to be.”

“Everything

is just

As it is

Meant

to

be.”