He heals pain, Wallows in their shame, Wants to conceal the cracks within life, Wants to hold the world upright. He turns it silver, As his tears in the moonlight. He holds a candle to the dim barrage Of a halo above it, To the moon, at its summit. He holds the empty pages For his sweeping tears, The translucent ink. He can curl himself, As an infant. He can lose himself Without pleasure for the breast To his mouth, From the white. He can tear His heart apart, Without a needed gesture To the world's surrender. He can love Without gullibility, As he can trust Without futility. He can leave sides alone, To hold himself in the mirror. Though, sweet comfort is his sadness, The bitterness in his yearning. He makes the world silent Under his cries.