I itch to rectify
those feeble hearts,
etched with
stanzas of song and
verses of prose.
I strive to feed
those void minds,
hollowed by rage and
plagued with pity.
I dream to soothe
those rugged contours,
engraved into the
crevices of those
warm and weary
bodies.
I crave to purify,
to brighten,
to mend
all of those shattered
pieces that have been
inevitably left behind.
With the jagged
fragments of
shimmering glass
scarring against
my naked palm,
I halt and ponder -
Who will be there
to mend me?
I have been alone
all along.