Thoughts
When thoughts are all that’s left,
the heart is at its weakest,
hanging by a thread,
left to be sown,
alone.
Sorrow the only comfort,
the heart tries,
but can’t.
Through emotion,
easily read,
one must sacrifice.
To delve is to understand,
to understand is to feel,
to feel sorrow it changes you,
that the heart won’t be left,
to bleed but heal.
Let it be known,
that a heart of sorrow,
cold yet never alone.
Can warm up,
only if one has sight.
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