Faithful

He spoke to her heart without ever uttering a word.

The blood of war still stains his hands. Ghosts haunt his vision in the noon time.

She knows because she’s been there too.

He rests his head in her lap but for a moment, wide-eyed with torment.

Silent tears roll down the hollow of his cheeks in hope of a remedy.

He fears he’ll live with this pain for the rest of this life.

Fear and shame asphyxiate able cords from releasing truth on the wings of the wind.

               The death and burial of demons lie in the power of the tongue.

If he simply opened his mouth and bared his soul, peace will surely come.

Until then, I’ll stay by his side holding his hand and covering his wounded heart.

©Copyright privatethoughtsmadepublic. 2016.

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