A Hidden Volcano

Is there a sorrow in happiness?
Or a happiness in sorrow?
I see your smiles,
The happy glances at the ones you love.
Yet your eyes show through paths unknown,
The volcano of your heart.

Why do you not show it?
Why do you not show me?
I see it, it's underneath your film.
It's underneath your happy exterior.
Like a wall covered in bright ivy,
Your dying wall lies beneath.

Or in your sadness.
You grieve silently, alone, unhappy.
You don't show me your face,
You don't show me your smile.
How I long for it to brighten these dingy rooms!
These rooms we call our homes.

"Home is where the heart is,"
Then I have no home.

My heart is yours,
But you do not accept it.
Therefore I'm alone.

I live in constant wonderment of you.
Waiting, watching for your acceptance.
When you are ready,
When the wild volcano is cooled,
When the smile shows its face again,
Then I will be there.

Look towards your future, and I will be waiting.
Look to me, and you will see yourself,
Gleaming in my eyes.

Stained fabric.

The hearty youth wheeled Him over to the cool glass. You knew it was cold because in between the layered glass, the frost created intricate snowy puzzles. He longed to touch it, to feel the chilliness spread to his interior, but that blasphemous child was still there. He would have to wait.

The college-aged ‘elderly affairs’ officer stooped close to His face with his disgustingly suave and oily face with that smirky smile and said, “Do you need anything else?”

“Me, need anything else! Why I didn’t need you to save my antagonized wretched life beforehand, but I do feel a heart attack coming on,” He felt like scoffing. Instead, He said, “No.”

“All right. Well, just tell that young lady over there in the red suit if you do. Her name is Jenny and she would be glad to help you.” With a satisfied smile, as if he had changed yet another life, the adolescent left to save another old soul.

He sat staring out over the tarmac. It looked scorched and dry. Like Himself.

He grew tired and stared at the ground, not possibly without thinking of Her.

The carpet was stained too. Stained red.

He wished He felt the worn carpet, the rough ridges pass through His shriveled toes. He wished Her’s next to His. He wished He could remember Her face as it was twenty years ago.

He wished…