How can I fix you?
You with sage beyond my realm, a foreign feeling –
You who trades words as super glue, bonding thoughts –
You the listener at the mind’s hearth, catching sparks.
How can I help you?
It’s not my place to walk where angels bury their dead –
It’s not my job to save those who fear the shadow cast –
It’s not my time to calm the quivering of your heartbeat.
How can I show you?
I wish to unveil your mind to this flame deep within –
I feel it burn on purified oil, left from noble desires –
I sense not a passing passion which wilts as it flowers.
How can I be?
If I could cradle you so gently as the child I never had –
If I could banish your bad dreams with a kiss to the forehead –
If I could paint you in my feelings warm as burnished ochre.
Yet your being shines so brightly, it floods my words with smiles.