Cold Hearts Poem by mark anthony st. rose

6 billion persons in this world yet my heart is so alone,
and the misty air hovers frigid breathes a breath-
-a breath so cold.
But it burns still my soul like a white flame on a lone monastic hill,
as apparent eternal raging tempest skies still blow-
-still blow winds chill.

And my formless tears cries tries the ice to warm,
but freezes its fervent attempt and bids forlorn.
And I am left to wonder is this a poet's path,
like the road less traveled on Robert Frost's chart.

Or is solitude my blessing or curse that I shall write,
and the moon and stars my company the lonely night.
And in the day shall I seek solace from the seas, the sea-gulls, the shore,
or the sun in its majestic flight be content therewith and nothing more.

Is it wrong for me to crave a true friendship bond, a human touch,
or in this world of selfish indulgence am I asking too much.
For I've found friends more fleeting than the fair-weather clouds,
and aloneness tears my heart even amidst the mass of crowds.

And in their busyness going about their business,
they fail to notice me oblivious to the sadness
that fills my sombre soul and by extension theirs,
for we are all connected they fail to see but only their fears-
-of being- - alone.



copyright@2009 by Mark Anthony St. Rose. All rights reserved.