Saturday, 20 August 2016

20/08/16. The Damaged.

I think I am drawn to the deep and the damaged;
to the people with scars and broken hearts,
and souls that have yet to heal.
To those who feel so very intensely,
and reel at some thought with the instinctive flinch of a pain, 
concealed, but poorly so, by the steady turn of time.

 I become infatuated with those people who have lost hope;
those who've tied ropes to their past so firmly that
their jokes are coated with wry cynicism and shadows.
To those whose tongues still harbour words unsaid,
as they tread cautiously through normality,
dreading the day that the world may shake once more beneath their feet.

I am intrigued by the people whose minds do not rest 'til dawn;
the people who silently mourn,
and redecide decisions they've decided but still leave them torn.
To those who have met the darkness and befriended it,
who have lost the light of life and still not ended it,
despite the battle that rages within their mind.

 I seek the stories that are told by saddened eyes;
those truths that slip out through well worn disguises,
like how November makes them cry
and they can not take certain roads in the dark.
To the people whose poetry writes itself when they wonder,
and whose hair still stands at the roar of thunder,
because it is not the storm that they hear in that sound.

 I cannot help but walk towards those that walk towards death with open arms;
those brave souls too brave to truly harm,
because it's harder to keep going; than it is to stop.
Those people who are fighting with their insides on a daily basis,
seeking fulfillment in the strangest of places,
and I would tell a lie to say I saw no familiarity in such faces;
because I do.

And perhaps that is why I am drawn to the deep and the damaged;
I can not help but see their scars and broken hearts,
with my own soul, that has yet to heal.
I feel, so very intensely,
and reel at that thought, with an instinctive flinch,
my pain concealed, but poorly so,
despite the steady turn of time.