I am not the heart beating in his chest
no sense of calm can make the storm
raging in him subside.
I say that I know his pain,
but truly, do I?
Am I walking the same path?
He has his hands raised above his
head permanently, a shell of a soul,
residing in a body beaten from the
very earth that struck it into being.
Dust upon dust,
dirt upon dirt.
He shows no form of mimicry — an exhausted
engine chugging towards an unknown
I am trying to learn about his
relentless past, how it hangs over him,
dangling like fresh meat.
He tells me that the damaging years
are far behind him and
I see truth glimmering in his eyes.
“We all have our demons, our battles.
You are fighting yours. I am fighting mine.
Are you willing to win because
I have no time for another loss.”
The way he holds his mouth,
terrified of uttering the truth,
makes me love him even more.
Makes me realize that
he has groundwork to lay and
the foundation of us may have
to be placed on hold.
The spinning web we have
weaved holds no sustenance.
Everything caught, must be