And song comes naught
My soul bears its sorrow
Like a flaming iron.
Tears flow like streams
Of hot lava
O'er my burning cheeks
My pain becomes outward.
Are they meant to heal the soul
Or shame the face?
Do they burn to spite
Or purify the heart?
I know not which
I care not which
They flow regardless
Of their purpose.
No comments:
Post a Comment