Some wounds strike deep,
tumble over event horizons
beyond all chance for healing.
Beating hearts sullied by shame,
hidden in black holes, void of true light.
Starved for love,
Abandoned hearts settle for crumbs
of personal attention,
beg for an instance of recognition.
Desperate hearts dream mythic dragons
to gorge on feint praise, from disreputable demons.
Dying to matter,
hungry for touch,
clinging to wishes,
the wounded crossover
full of envy,
absent gladness.
All humans travel in gravity’s grace,
through galaxies of emotion,
but abandoned hearts, full of protest,
blinded by fears of continued rejection,
abandon empathy.
Anxiety unquenched,
living in a personal wilderness
with shape shifting fantasies,
and outlandish lies to believe,
an unwholesome brew of disordered capacity.
Their suppressed emotions,
banned from expression by armies of reason,
defend arrogant belief, and lost in grief
fail to observe the looming horizon.
That whirlwind of confusion and
infernal silence,
tearing weary bones asunder,
with icy indifference,
sucked dry of lifeblood’s sweetest marrow.
THH
6/25/25 (revised 6/30)
Thoughts Have Hands 