In the shadowed vale of yearning,
Whispers rise from a heart that’s burning,
Not with the searing flames of hate,
But fear that love won’t unlock its gate.
I am a vessel, brimming, full,
With love to give, yet I am null,
For the script of affection was ne’er bequeathed,
In love’s own tongue, I am unsheathed.
Kindness blooms within my chest,
Yet, it’s eclipsed by how I’m addressed,
They see not the flower, but the thorn,
And in their gaze, my spirit’s worn.
Judgment’s gavel falls with might,
Upon my days, into my nights,
They read not my soul, nor its silent plea,
Only the scars that they wish to see.
Life’s brevity, I know too well,
A fleeting dance, a transient spell,
Yet rage, like a tempest, takes the stage,
And in its fury, it pens my page.
I seek not the jury’s eyes,
But the warmth of sunlit skies,
To live, to laugh, to love, to be free,
From the chains of rage, to simply be me.
For in my heart, a hope still glows,
That from this pain, compassion grows,
And one day, love will find its way,
To heal the hurt, to clear the gray.
So let not judgment be your guide,
See the beauty that dwells inside,
For within this soul, where pain resides,
Is a love immense, that never hides.
R.M Anderson 2023
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