The tear was there before I started, before I said a word,
Such feelings mixed of guilt, of rage which pushed up hard inside.
A twist of nerves so physical, the thought becomes so felt.
And no logic nor calm reasoning can trim them down to size.
The remedy to thoughts so grave, to shatterings of hope,
Lies merely in a human touch, a word, a subtle brush.
My friend was there with such a word, well-mulled, prepared with love,
The only wish he had – I saw – was to wash my worries clean.
He uttered this considered cure, confined it to my ears,
But this alone does not suffice to stem the flow of tears.
His arms don’t reach to wipe my cheek, or calm the pulsing flow,
Of panicked blood which rushes through to redden both my cheeks.
Once all is said my ears are dumb, my skin now yearns for help,
A contact friendly, physical, and human, all in one,
To fill the gap of family and lovers still to find.
No arm strikes out, no head just tilts, no offering to grasp,
I see another wet globe form, my troubles aren’t my own.