The Twisted Heart

Unexpected, his face crumples,
His eyes being lost.
The Gateways to his soul becoming slits.
I never see the glisten
Of a bead along his cheek,
But he convulses.
His whole body jolts, tortured.
I want to reach out,
Speak to him, say something,
But my arm’s length is a desert,
And I dare not reach through the baron.
And what could I say?
Cliché riddled lies delivered
By a quivering tongue.
So I watch as he burns.
His skin is neutral,
But his heart is twisting, screaming,
Licked by the flames of grief,
Then thrown
Into unknown pits, confused.
I cannot speak.
Cannot reach out my hand,
Pat him on the back.
Refuse myself the chance
To patronize him more than
“I know how you feel.”
So I let him weep.