The Heartache

He could feel it and smell it too,
The burning heartache that churned inside,
He longed for a small mound of love, just little,
It was a soft cry, though it was sad and hopeless

This was an artificially created crisis, but by who?
It had made him small and inside he was a stone,
For his heart carried a quiet kind of rebel for all things,
He had come accustomed to all evil spewed on him

Although he was surrounded by a sea of honest petals,
That danced graciously in the blameless soft breeze,
Violence had numbed his senses into disbelief,
Could neither feel the highest joy nor the deepest sadness.

He was tethered like a hopeless Christmas animal,
For the onslaught of anything that would kill his peace,
For the world was full of tension and discriminate hate,
He had confirmed that horror on earth is real and canny

He wished he could shut his eyes and command it to stop,
He wished to feel wild and free just once more in life,
He wished to feel unreachable and invincible all at once,
He wished he could go into that light but deep dreamlike bliss…
This moment that extended everything that he wasn’t sure of

 

 

 

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