My Heart

This blank page is rather like my stony heart;
Already lined, and tainted by my past,
Yet empty, waiting, unfulfilled and vast,
Remembers relationships once torn apart.
Through the desolate void a lone wind groans
For love, for comfort, please end this deadly grief,
Just as Heathcliff called to Cathy on the heath
In those pitiful, mourning, wailing tones.

Yet all is wrong, for I so wish to be held
Strong and tight, for you to cradle my frail head,
‘Til all anxiousness, all worry dead,
Peaceful, as your heart, is to my heart weld.
But for now, my self’s rusty gates shall ope,
With this bleeding ink as my only hope.