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Poem

I've buried fifty hearts,
my tears within
...become the flood
to drown me.

Epitaph of the graves of north's wall,
calling the scent of past and true,
felling my smile, once and for all;
as  a walking tomb of compassion
with a crumbled pall.

The wind is biting,
the carrying of flood
and waters blessed with tears,
I feel my heart cease beating
and the weeping in my ears.

The cage has burst it's plumbing,
the pain of sorrow overwhelm,
the sun has ceased it's shining
and I weep beneath the helm.

The betrayal of humanity, the death
dismay and poverty,
the screams of utter empathy
and the burden left to bare;
I can't hide it anywhere.

Thus I drown beneath my sixth,
my sixth and final heart,
I drink my tears in such a mug
as never before been drought;
the bitter taste is eerie
and the flood of tears comes raw,
lest I wake to cease my breathing
and drown inside the pond.

The wound is ten times bigger,
the wound that dissolves my form,
the wound is ten times graver
and fatality becomes the norm.

Let me pray for safety,
for all of you out there,
I do not need your pity,
I'm already dead and bare.

I'll pray for your happiness
and health and much, much more,
I'll carry all your burdens within me evermore.

The wound of north's wall calls me
and tells me it is time,
for me to part this living realm
and leave my woes behind.

...But I will keep them always,
fore there are stories left to tell
and I await an audience,
...with curiosity, to whom I can instill;

...your hearts and dreams.

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