The Lonely Hearts.
S
Sandra Feldman
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The lonely hearts
They cry, alone
They've never had
Love, of their own,
Perhaps, a shadowed
Phantom, Love
That never really
Was, enough.
That in between
Dwindled away
Knowing,
Not even what to say
As emptiness,
Opened the doors
To solitude, sadness
And more,
A wasted-up life
A soul oppressed,
Without
Ever,
Any happiness,
And never blessed.
A barren land
Where no rose
Grew,
Just bitter thorns
Of loneliness,
Where only
Sad winds, blew.
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