The Atrium

Heart on a Sleeve

I am;

Caterer and servant

the humble passerby 

fellow visitor

my vice;

is a reaching hand

open heart

doormat for trampling feet

bestowed

vest withered and torn

shoulders compressed and bound

the loyal maul before you

The Fool;

just an adjunct, not essential

overused tissue

soaked right through

open books

words laced with emotion

sentences are the messengers

I read you all

eager hands;

towards inviting fire

burned again

burned again

but still listen

to your whimpers