Tears of fire drip from burnéd sockets. The char of scourge stains thy fresh ragged face Seest thou the once-filled, now empty lockets, The years by, the broken chain thou erase?! The cursed hands thy heart reacheth out with To touch the unsuspecting and tender Souls that lie within the Ulysses myth. The empty jar, filled and drawn, that renders The Hollow in the cavity, sealed with Deception. The only truth understood. Eyes of pretense of Bathsheba’s false tith’. Inept at reaching for light if thou could. A blackened heart in thyself, thou posses, Covered with sheer, thine heart of darkness.