It runs just beneath the surface,
A river of molten tar.
The very fumes bring tears to my eyes,
The very sight brings despair to my heart.
Heart. Heart, my heart is in pieces.
Laid to waste like a prisoner of war,
Starved, whipped, ripped apart,
Left to die out in the bitter cold.
I’d like to warm myself beside this river,
To feel some life back into my limbs.
Though the heat may scorch my skin,
I can bare feel anything, anymore.
Beside this River of hate,
I am far tempted to dwell.
For the ghosts of Justice lies in its’ froth,
And the bitter song of rage is its’ wont.
But nay,
I shall lie in silence and wait,
Sustained by the fragile tendrils of hope
Which I hold tight to my breast.
And I pray.