A private sorrow

Within the mirror of a wounded mind,
At times when faith has nowhere left to stay,
Scorched by the weight of passion, torn and blind,
I feel her presence growing in my pain.

A quiet gleam ignites my weary brain,
And silence seeps into my listening ears.
She comes in whispers, barefoot through my pain,
Her gentle lips still drying all my tears.

She brings the hush they call a peace of mind,
A cold release that floods and leaves me numb.
When I am tired of seeing, deaf and blind,
Through endless days where poisoned moments come.

She stills the rain of hope that learned to ache
Inside the hollow chambers of my eyes.
In tender chains she clasps me for my sake,
An inward clasp no struggling defies.

Her moonlight forms a shield against my fear,
A fragile wall around a lostened land.
In every breath, each dream, my silent year,
I feel her fingers resting on my hand.

It seems she never leaves my private sorrow,
She drinks my tears and listens to my cry.
Wherever I may go, she walks to follow,
And stays with me until the day I die.