As a feather lite,
My heart stands alone,
The scales bound,
I can not control.
What was done has come to pass,
What the future brings, the sight crass,
I can not say, to my eyes it surpass,
A mere feeble letter not yet written.
And what it may come,
However my heart is judged,
When the last string of it is strung,
Know that I loved,
I laughed a bit even shunned.
Now in the hour of need,
I sit alone questioning my own creed.
The meaning of life I yet do not know,
I lived it far too little for it to show,
The secrets it held, it kept to itself,
All that it left,
Is a broken man with a broken heart,
With mind weary and his head hung,
One lone soul, with a heart of many,
Abandoned alone with regrets plenty.
The Word Den 