A tear could crack this laboured face,
of gentle whispers, breath,
of hours and seconds, months and days,
few left enough to thieve.  

To steal ourselfs less others do,
committed to our days.  
A curious thing for those that say,
that crime it never pays.

A heart “once found” shall look to the sky
or in tired shame, they slowly fall.
Do not live of grey, if not your way,
for chains not seen , are the heaviest of all.