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My Heart Weeps

And my heart weeps inside of me,

when my love cries, so cold, empty,

when I am trapped, broken, un-free,

when this hole bleeds, so terribly.

I’ve not the courage to leave my thoughts,

although my mind, is filled, with screams,

they echo unbound around so loud,

locked within my freezing, arctic dream.

My heart ceases to search the scene,

when my soul resists, disturbed, unseen,

seeking a peace too sharp to reap,

ever so sickened by aches of grief.

My memory stalks, me here, unquiet,

into the fray, I submit to silence -

finding reprieve, by which, to see,

how can I awake, if not, asleep!

Having been damned, as broken beings,

your cries are mine, I hold, believing,

echoing our songs amid the beasts,

we shall find peace or else we cease.


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I am nothing more than a passing ghost through the dream you call life.

 

“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”