Sorrows of the poets

Hearts pour out their sorrows
Gentle or not
Warm or not
Elequent or cruel
Sorrows fill this lagoon
And bathe in each other's messages
Whirling, succumbing, draining through
To suckling seedlings or not
Sometimes rising in the light the warmth the day or missed in the night
Heat or not
Chill or not
Taken by winds of pitied hands in hands
Lonely hands clutching for a connection
Or empty words falling from passionless intellectual tongues or not
Sorrows fill this lagoon
That has never had its fill