He's been so long without a touch,
He's not sure he remembers much,
Except a heart cracked loneliness,
Not something manly men confess.
He's has a rugged virile look,
Intelligence, another hook,
He's strong and kind, compassionate,
His helpfulness beyond debate.
But the love he loved for years
Has left him crying hidden tears.
Without her touch to soften him,
His craggy face grows stony, grim.
But only one who's gained his trust
Will see inside, to tear track rust.
The trail of love and loss he's trod,
Belies his iron gripped facade.
He's drawn to every curvy form.
There is no rhyme, there is no norm.
He knows there'll never be a chance,
But he can't stop his hungered glance.
He knows in every fantasy,
He'd be their choice, could they but see.
Around the world, across the street,
Most all, he's sure, he'll never meet.
His ego, bruised and running free,
Screams in his head, "Why him, not me?"
His wounded, bloody self esteem,
Goes home to sleep, perchance to dream.
And when he wakes, once more controlled,
He'll sell the image always sold,
A man of quiet, peaceful joy,
Once more forgetting it's a ploy.
Once more in armor, he'll charge out
Unseen, a chink in his redoubt.
It's built up strong to hide from pain,
So he'll not feel such hurt again,
But it's been flawed right from the start,
Won't stand before a rare, true heart.
Richard Higley, © April 18 2015
