Bamboo Tears

Crescent hands press against my heart forlorn,
Marking the trellis made of art scorned,
Feeding the wind against crimson soul,
Searching the anger spit out from within the shoal.

What is the weight of the world that
Burns my steel forged on anvils flat,
Enjoining grief and thoughtless hope,
Mourning my future now bending broke?

Against my heart the press of the mark
Scorns the trellis around my heart,
Stealing the art within my soul,
Bending the shoot of life’s only goal.

What is the weight of the world then?
Unseen blinds raising paths twisted to men,
Railings to split hands seeding the wind.
The wait against time my dreams to send.