United in sadness
                      o'er a wars
        unavailing remorse,
             these sorrowful eyes
                      of ours weep the
                                regrettable cries
                  of woe which pours
           fastest o'er the fruitless
                 longing that forced
             the hand that feeds
                 to clench into a fist;
a violence that too
                 many know,
and I
am no passerby in
                                   this
-my house was supposed
                              to be a home.