His tongue is littered with apologies

Lips practiced in sowing regret

Where hearts spoke out of turn

And souls snapped back with silence.

His eyes, hollowed by grief

Are tragedies mute as death’s laughter

Echoing to the point of cacophony,

Then choking on nothing but air.

His throat is parched for relief

The cool touch of recollection

Unmarred by the recitation

Of a past unyielding to change.