Right or wrong, left no bonds for the old
the lighter load just exposed the cold
running away down closing roads
to a house laid flat, no room to roam
amidst walls that talk in moans, disgruntled groans
for inside is no house nor home
but a bleeding heart unabsolved
within a scarlet broken mould
of whispers sold for mere coppers not gold
the cheap talk from the lips loaned with no will to aid the soul
as lone stories were as if to silence told, with no sweetened tones to hold
leaves a frail existence, that fears to be consoled.