Cold Hearth

Cold hearth paints all in ashen grey
Crescentic wails escaping the chimneys
Are Carried aloft by the gossiping wind
From the beleaguered threshold of a house
Crossed by a throng of mornful feet.

The mind is haunted by
Disregarded premonitions
Dismissive swipe of the hand
And echo of the told truth

Gnashing teeth
Impales the dismissive finger
In piercing stabs
The regretful thoughts linger.

Now this too shall pass,
Time is the ointment
She cureth all wounds
Carved upon the heart like hieroglyphs