Stains

You think about it all the time,
But never have you said

The weight you carry in your heart,
The words within your head —

But in the morning, hard and gray,
You’ve known these secret pains

Then covered up the traces,
All the bruises and the stains.

To all the world you’ve shown a face
You’ve painted on for show,

But that’s become habitual;
Now, everywhere you go,

You just display the sunlight.
You’re a beacon mid the rains,

And no one sees the leakage,
Or the bleeding, or the stains.

It doesn’t matter anyway.
You know that’s how you think —

And when you seem on edge, I know
You’re really on the brink —

Why is it that you won’t come clean?
There really is no knowing,

But maybe you’ll see hope to know
Your stains at last

Are showing

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “Stains”

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