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No one can hear
the shrill sounds she heaves
daily on the walls surrounding her.
Cries mashed up in the silence of hearts,
stone deaf to the vanity of halves.
Or you think, she be the serpent,
bearing the cross of atonement
as every reneging servant
fate-locked to silence for repent
from errors owned in ancient.
Ever spoke to an empty space?
Then you’ll seek redeeming grace,
from the blood that wash short of trace
to melt your every scorn, away in race
to embrace again, this face of earthen brace!
