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.”