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A Soul In Pain

I run my hands over muscles
harder than steel
kneading out the tensions
of the day that passed
I run my hand
through silk and over velvet
caressing hair and skin
that breathes of life
His body shimmers in the light of the fire
a faint glow of copper
in ivory skin
He breathes,
his chest rising and falling,
his voice silenced
by weariness and despair.
I do not judge
the way that others judge him
I do not turn my back
and walk away
I see him enter sometimes
dressed in sadness
blood still clinging to the clothes he wears.
I hate the dimness in his eyes
the torment
and so I rise and meet him
by the door.
I gently run my hands
over his body
kneading out the sorrows
that I know are there.
They call him dark and violent
and quick of temper
but no matter what he does
he stays the same.
Where others see an evil
or a foulness
I only see a soul
that's cloaked in pain.