The Traveller’s Heart

Lonely-Woman

It searches nights to find its rest
Will one welcome poorest guest?
It smells its own, but can’t get in,
Try in vein to see within.

A heart once beat incessantly
In organic love, romantically.
Yet, now it treads hesitantly,
Lost its way… Never free.

When she sang in truth and beauty
They stripped her innocence inside me.
It molded her, now slave to thee,
A hanging heart that cannot see.

The heart that travels inside me.
Knows no truth, love… beauty.

Written by Randall Evans

This is the Vile Mint.

3 thoughts on “The Traveller’s Heart

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