The Bleeding Heart Poem by Alexandrian Ink

All the inclined sight
That captures as it gazes,
And every music concordant
Turned to its lyrical verses,
Produce sorrows outbound be measure,
Bleeding wounds, bleeding sans a cure.

The shrill of the nocturnal bird
That pierces through the silent night;
So has this gift of mine stabbed
My soul, thus it cries with great might;
"Odium humanis generis"
Ah, "the wickedness of man, " alas.

This gift of mine, this gift of vision
That sees but the inhumane acts
Of the heartless mischievous generation,
That rip off the earth of justice;
Is on me, like the noble Brutus's spear
That dashed through the heartJulius Caesar.

Every wooing and consoling matter,
Even robs the sore
When its should bring plaster,
Thus it bleeds more and more;
Am living with a bleeding heart
Am living with a bleeding heart.

Blindness come hither, hie please
Thrust my eyes never to see again,
Ne'er the ear, to hear any sought of this
Cos, all I see and perceive swims in pain,
And to heal this my bleeding heart
Is to deaf my hearing and blind my sight.

Dec.7 - 2107