I sit listening, patiently recording,
Stories of sorrow, pain, and violence.
People expelling the details of their lives,
Seeking assistance for their cares.

Explaining the past in magnified details,
The Voices torturing their minds,
The Visions disturbing their hearts.
So many unbalanced, unstable people.

Victims to past trauma or mental disease.
Attempting to manage their pain and thoughts,
To find a path through.
To find the answer to improve their lives.

I sit explaining, patiently to each,
We cannot change the course of their lives,
It is up to them.
Only try to give them the tools to cope.
Its a long slow process, never a quick cure.

My reward for each encounter, small though it is,
A smile, a look of relief, a look of hope.
Makes the pain endured, the risks taken,
Worth the effort put forth.

some things
aren’t meant to be known
by man

but when a man
picks one of those
up,
or rather,
when they are dropped upon him,
usually in the most arbitrary of
moments,
he must then carry it
with him
for the rest of his
life

he will bear this weight,
and for some,
it will be too much,
breaking their backs
as well as their wills,
and leaving them to writhe on the floor
until death comes

but for others,
those like me,
we bear the weight
without strain,
looking only downward
at the road ahead

and our backs will not break
despite their cries for that fate,
and our wills will not crumble
despite the failure of the inner
columns to remain upright
and sturdy

those men,
with the weight
of a secret world
on their shoulders,
will march through their lives
looking no different than the man
not burdened with the
truth