Contrary Heart

Suffer and suffocate
underneath the boorish words
painted on a canvas
coarse and underserved.
Prattle off a tale
of pitied degradation.
Hold it to the microphone,
sell out your true depression.

Every word an echo
plagiarised but only weaker.
True emotion is a dream
escaping ill bred thinkers.
Hear a heavy hand pen
what heavy hearts won't dare.
Here a heavy hand opens
the heavy heart's affairs.

Spill this ink as if like blood
and the poet were a rōnin.
Wandering in nothingness
waiting for a moment
when there will be a cherry tree
in the garden of a noble
and these pros come to a head
in effort of atonement.

Delight, Contrary Heart,
in the feast which is provided
but know you are like famine
and will never be satiated.
What God can make this husk
who writes tomes about being broken,
hiding here all lyrically,
non syllabic, and outspoken

VV