I wait with bated breath
For a depth
Of understanding
That never follows.
How can another ken
And lend
An empathetic hand
To my set of misery?
They know not being waken
By being shaken
To the core of their soul
With memories harrowing and haunting.
They know peace
Whilst all I know is destruction.
And yet here I stand
For a hand
To reach out and touch me
On my cheek, my shoulder, my heart.
I wait with impatience
In silence.
I wait.
But I do not make it known:
I crave the human touch.