The Break-Up

Our relationship had turned into clichéd two-hand sentences;
On the one hand it was as brittle as baked clay,
On the other hand, as cold as iron sans strength.

On the one hand we had made a kingdom of our dreams
Like a beautiful statue standing on love shores.
On the other hand, ours was a state with heavily taxed subjects.

Falling apart, coming down crashing and crumbling,
Don't ask what and who were freed.
For iron couldn't mix with clay.

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