This sullied heart, it holds this elm, so hard.

It wants to leave but can not move, endures. 

It pours, within, a skewered phloem, chard.

In pain, it stays, it’s frozen safe, for cures.

But needs to move to leave its sacred holes behind.

These different signals, newer resonance, 

another cure that leads to understand.

Irrelevance is recompense in chance.

So taking mind and learn a new command.

But, still, a hole, divine, is learned from past, entwined. 

The hole, so empty, left behind, for then,

Is now refilled with stuffs like sea’s control.

It throws around, it runs aside, a dren. 

But now you see what leans and gleans away

is better lost for loosing, is a find.