Poems of pain III: Strangers meeting

We are no different, you and I,
Though we sing different songs.
In your eyes I see unspent tears
And I who have slept alone
Has no tears to spend.
I do not boast of my pain.
There's no badge of honour
Or fraternity to be had here
But we know we are no different.
Yes our kisses may taste different
And our shame may be stained different
But pain has no name
And shame is a beggar on the street.

We have never spoken
But I know your intimate parts.
I know that you do not sleep
And your dreams are the loops
Of a sweaty nightmare without end.
I know for I see the demons in your eyes
And if I look deep enough I see me
Standing there, lost, a pale imitation
Of the real thing, a silent emptiness.

I wish I can heal you with a kind word,
A softly uttered prayer, a touch,
A soft caress of skin on skin,
A nod of my head but it is selfish of me
For in your healing I too seek to be saved.
What if you do not want to be healed?
What if you have become used to the pain?
What if removing that pain would kill you?
No! I cannot torture myself about this.
I must walk my journey by myself.
You will not be a crutch to lean on.

So I watch you instead
As your spine curves into your chest,
As your feet shuffle as if in chains
And your eyes watch the earth.
I raise my hand in farewell
When you fade from sight
And I raise my hand when the soft
Murmur of your pain reach me.
In your prayers, I hear your story
And amen is all I say.

We are together, you and i,
Lovers on this wan beach,
Picking memories and pebbles,
Building sandcastles and hopes,
Pretending that we are fine,
You are a stranger and I am fine
With my pain and my spent tears.
When we pass and our shadows collide,
I hunger to touch you and bring light
But I know well that I am pain.

©warpedpoetic, 2019.