The Heart Cries

The mind creates,
but hands are still.
The heart cries—
the body does nothing.

Songs you meant to sing
died on your lips.
Dreams,
put to sleep.

The thief, Comparison,
comes in the night.
He steals your passion,
leaves only
wasted time.

Still,
the heart cries.

Mourning—
at the gravestone
of wasted potential.

Here lies my hope.

And the heart cries
for the last time.