To the world,
So bold and open;
But I could see,
How much he was broken.
Not a single emotion,
His face revealed;
The scars remain,
Even if the wounds are healed.
The pain may be gone,
But the burn still lasts;
A hateful remainder,
Of his haunting past.
His cold demeanour,
Was all a facade.
Darkness was his refuge,
Darkness was his solace.
Away from the world,
Alone he cried;
His pain and sufferings,
He wanted to hide.
His heart was broken,
So was his trust;
Broken beyond repair,
His compassion reduced to dust.
Stabbed in the back,
His conscience did mourn;
They toyed with his feelings,
They turned his heart into stone.
His trust was abused,
His innocence was gone;
In this cruel world,
He was all alone.
~*~
This poem is dedicated to person who made me fall in love with poetry. Writing poems was never my forte. That person, knowingly or unknowingly, inspired me to write poems. Also, this particular piece of poetry is based on something, or rather someone.