Storing Sadness


There is a spared rift before our spine,
That weighs our hearts before our mind,
And though feathers dare to hold no guilt,
The twining of tremors make our hearts wilt.

Judged on the base of thought scoured silt,
Our body crumbles from under our gilt,

Sorrow sears our sparred severance,
Rendering every mask ghastly grimaced,
While perceivable predators patrol in patience,
Bringing shoulders back waiting for their sensations,

Carnivores of mind steadily hold for hesitations,
A moment of silence is their anticipation,

Wary are our tears upon our faces,
That reveal to us such tragic graces,
And fear that to not hide them in cases,
Would pose threat to our lasting traces,

Weary are our eyes of frantic jeering,
The icy stance of constant fearing,
When at last to find a steady clearing,
We wander, lost and empty, merely listening.

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