True Nature (Poetry)

No one comes out of the mist
with one word on his lips
and that word is sorrow — the same
in all the languages of the world
uttered to the listening sky — grown
grey with empathy.

Grey as the shadow lost on the cold side of the mountain
where the sun cannot find it
and caves yawn wide to claim it —
swallow deep the ache of loneliness — down
where faint rays of hope can’t get a grip.

For days hope can’t face the mirror —
the looking glass won’t fit a stranger in its frame
while love is out there missing breathing means
every minute’s bled to a pale sigh
and no one knowing who or what to blame —
fearful of true nature —
                                how the season’s feelings change.