A Boy’s Heart Can Be Mended By Just A Gentle Caress
A poem about healing.
Boys do cry, when no one’s looking
away from prying eyes, when the devil’s busy cooking
When everyone is at play, the evening is about to set,
a boy hides away, in his drawing room’s corner I bet
When the dusk follows slowly, as the sunset light shone
the rays that follow through the windowpane of the room
He sits quietly, weeping, whimpering in the dark
no one to hush him there, no one to reject his heart
No wonder it came to this, as he ran his tears away
His nose oozing with sadness, as he tries to work his gears in dismay
Shrieking in the darkness, he looks for comfort within
if only he was prepared, if only he had someone to take him elsewhere
Then the door knocks, his mother calls for him, a shock soon follows
He wipes his tears away and cleans himself to face her
With red cheeks, boiling, a smile that screams oh dear
He hugs his mum, with love and apologizes for making her wait right there
She calmly caressed his forehead, and he’s rushed with immense joy
She holds his hand, as they tread the hallway where he need not ever fear,
His heart is in good hands, and so does his gentle soul,
Knowing she is there, to make his life a present, he can revere, forevermore
