There bides a torment inside
Deep and entrenched, doesn’t hint to subside,
The one who seeds it isn’t wise
The one who bears it lingers in disguise.
Pique and fury is its mask
Forbearing don’t divulge until you ask,
No sound of birds chirp or the gaze of the sun
Perhaps it is the end that has begun.
As perceives the misery of the other,
Yet whims to carry and let it suffer.
So pose the stitch one pushes through
Before it gets to a Being new,
Educe your presence to the one you treasure
To relive it to flutter with its feather.