I walk the road of bleeding hearts,
Treading upon the feelings of others.

No matter how softly I step,
I feel their pain and anguish.

My ears hear their cries,
Yet I can not ease their pain.

Can others not see the damage they cause?

The pain they inflict?

I see all too well those things I have done.
Am I insane or are they just blind, deaf, and dumb?

I see the marks of their hobnailed boots,
Scars made by their passage,
Some old, some new, some bleeding profusely.

I traded my boots for soft velvet slippers,
Yet I still hear the cries and feel the pain.

How can others say they do not?

Day by day, year by year,
My burden grows heavier,
My back bowed by the load,
Yet others do not even seem to notice the weight.

Why must I walk this lonely road?

I have no choice,
I was born upon it and am told my death will only cause more sorrow.