Bleak the ever frost of my heart separates me
Divides me from humanity in ways I can’t yet fanthom or comprehend
Day by day, I fight to give to love to feel something..
Yet time and again words fail me, and I feel cold inside
Left bitter at the betrayal and disrespect empty
When I should have felt longing and regret
for those I lost, I felt nothing
Was it due to some trauma I endured, unaware of its effect on my psyche, my soul?
Or simply was I incapable of the full measure of love others possess?
The winter cold reflects the distance between my soul and the world
Alone in a crowd
Searching for a lifeline
Left staring into the dark mirror of my discontent
An ocean between my troubled heart and the world of light
Cast into a pit of my own experience
Left to ponder what bulwark that divides
Surrounded by beauty calling out to me
My hand stayed by that unseen force
That unkind gulf halting my chance
At normalcy
At redemption
Confounded by my own understanding
That splinter in my brain
Not just the lack
But, knowing that it stems from
A coldness perhaps I was bequeath
At birth, an inheritance of nothingness
That accompanies ones sure knowledge
Of their own humanity
And the sorrow , as you weep for your own fate
The feeling called love a spector
That to me never materializes
And so doesn’t exist at
All
An Original Poem by H.R. Beebe