Warped

I had never known before

that silent panging

in their ailing bones.

I had only known before

the way that mine had

ached with pint-sized woes.

How pious a mind had I

unknowingly so.

Reinforced by pride,

persistant and petulant

my heart relished in

these specious motives.

But to see those eyes I grew

to know, was vastly

unexplainable.

Everything was tinted dark,

darker than any

color definable.

I knew not of this darkness,

of its tumultuous

hand in all they had.

Why hadn't I so recognized

its countenance corrupts

and gives nothing back

Weariness will harden hearts

until softening

is inconceivable.

But hope will croon like an incessant

bird until she is

acknowledged.

She will not accept what we

pretend to understand.

Leave nothing to your own mind she warns

that is where things become warped.