First Impressions

Nurturing is the needle that knots
Emotional scars
Torn carelessly open by insolence
And a near-dormant past,
Arroused by soundless screams
The inner voice reaches out
To the dispassionate shells
Fingering on the heart strings of the scorn,
Though the tune is soft
The notes are true
Inviting ignorance to fall
And a frigid heart to warm.

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