He Cries in Prayers

Strange are the ways he crossed the paths,
With someone determined to be never apart
But still unseen amidst the seen he walked,
Always far, the distance would never depart.

And lest they would haunt,
He should close his eyes.
But how shall the etched image vanish,
Should the tears wash it away,
Of what was dreamt can only be a dream again.

The livid angst never does lose,
A happy yet hollow mask he wore,
And his smile worth a million to others'
But not the one returned, for him to smother.

Now even the pandora's box seems empty,
Blood as words flow as ink,
The body becomes the mortal pen
And life as the page for a living diary.

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