wounded man – by cyclopseven

sweet words do not become medicine
to heal the wounded heart,
as the wound bleeds in silent slumber
in deepest layer man lies a slayer.
gentle words mean nothing
for pain is not a pleasant meeting,
silent look may not assist at all
yet at times its welcomed most.
wound that bleeds and pain that slits
makes man a creature that fled
from humanity and from empathy
hardly ever he stops a while
to caress his heart again and again
to regain the strength misplaced
so he may live again a life rightfully placed.

joy and bliss he search and search
hidden and missing, he thinks he is right
unexpectedly he holds them together,
alas!! his enemy the pain strays his path away
telling him fictional lies that joy and bliss is nowhere
and renders him whisper his agony to be blown by wind
in ceaseless fly.