Cold . . .

There is no point in screaming
When no one can hear you

It is futile crying
When all they do is stare

It is useless in speaking
When no one really cares

If you smile instead . . .

At least they keep you
For an audience . . .

To listen to their pain
Wipe away their tears
Comfort them in their grief

To be a calming presence
In their crisis

I don’t scream anymore
Tears don’t fall often
Words are few

I protect you . . .
Who cannot hear

You . . .
Who only stare

You . . .
Whose arms remain stiff at your side

Whose heart . .  .

Is cold and distant . . .

From me . . .


One thought on “Cold . . .

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