The pain in his heart

If you only see him
Holding his heart with his hands
Trying to stop the bleeding
The flow of blood
Under his feet

You were there
You were so beautiful indeed

You were like the gushing wind
Merely passing him by
Not a glance
Not a sense of even a little
Touch of compassion

You were gone in such a very short moment
Like the wind rushing to somewhere
The edge
The shore the endless horizon

Some screams are heard on the earth
These are the blood from his heart
About to turn into stones

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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