the slow art of breathing bitter

Broken Heart

In the burnt walls of four

I can quite feel—sometimes, a forgotten heart.

As if, in this great planet of void and rough roars,

I'm just shackled—under the blankness of the dark desert:

Moaning for help, wandering helplessly now

In this crooked caged room;

Bars of negligence have rusted away with the last snow;

I haven't remembered the last time my smile bloomed!

At the time I was a fair fellow

Of youthful exuberance and nonchalance,

I used to follow traits to whistle low—

The drunken versions of the faraway merry chants.

They are all my shattered past—

The past that shattered in just one night and drowned in the sea,

The past— I dreamt to renovate—

Alas! It went far away and didn't last long for me!

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A/N: I'd appreciate a vote if you think I deserve it. Thank you!