Language Of Anguish

From pages tears,

words do reach

the heart of you

you need replete.

If no eloquence

or beautiful song

a heart it aches

a place to belong.

Set free longing,

dig underneath,

the cynical cold

turns red a cheek.

I reflect I travel

within my core

when wind bites

as I try to soar.

Sad, mad pores

I sweat a regret;

from the past I

fail it to forget.

A cold though it

we need to keep.

So our errors we

will not repeat.

On parchment a

written language

you feel speak to

release anguish.

The ember’s out

cold surrounds.

Let our inferno

evict a hurt out.