Their Sorrow’s Blood

But aren’t there unhappy few
Who ever locked in stasis rue
The dissolution of a dream
That once they might have barely gleaned
Which withers right before their view?

And nothing–nothing!–they can do,
Their powerlessness leading to
The all-consuming vicious stream
They feed with all their sorrow's blood.

The dream is lost, they’re aging too,
And suffering is never through,
Though once so close to it it seemed.
The tumor grown from dust, it screamed,
And every second since it grew
They feed it with their sorrow's blood.