I am stuck, within
a hopeless pattern,
falling again, for
arms of false-hearted.
They murmur sound
that beckons word,
yet has no meaning,
masquerading sincerity.
Numbly I gaze, into
a make-believe world.
Oh kind, warm gust...
do wrap your arms around me.
Whirling through my hair,
that too, deprived of love.
Feeling, seeing thought,
yet, told I am not.
Taken for granted,
action defying word....
again. I’m tired, ******
But I just won’t break.
Heavy heart cursed, with
tears that won’t roll.
Never mattered much,
To anyone, anywhere.
Even my father left.
Perhaps it was best.
They all spewed sound from mouth.
Cannot call them words,
cause words have meaning.
Love is supposed to be refuge
and home.
Where is my home?
Not yet found.
Searching for purpose, meaning
in this cold.
I’m weary. I want to rest.
No rest for the wicked,
they say.
I must be wicked.
Collect the scattered pieces,
before the gust carries them away.
My soul, broken but still here-
Maybe one day...
someone will figure out this puzzle.
Mending what’s been broken.
Protecting me in their arms,
and never letting go.
Unless souls uniting
is reserved for lore.
Until then,
I will read lore,
in my home away from home.
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 9:33 AM UTC