SILENT HURT

Wear not thy face
In askance look
And drop me
Not in favour
Towards thy thought
As my search is
Still going on
To find the ones
Worth suffering for

Even the last respite
Of my breath
Will commence
A new journey
Away from thy end.

May be
I am not efficient
And belong not
To thy usual beat.
But, hark!
Here stands
The pure of heart
Marred by time.
Behold thy way
I have many ways to behold!