He Couldn’t Cry.

He couldn’t cry.

The hurt ran to deep to cry. The blows, the words and the touching seared. Scarred a heart perhaps too tender for this world.

Too far below did the tears pool to break forth. A grand reservoir long since frozen over, the thick ice allowing not even the merest hint life to be glimpsed.

Here, still as death below the ice, lie the rivers of truth waiting to be set free that they might live. That he might live.

So clear is the river of truth, so sweet it’s taste. Rivers so full of life you can see them dance teeming with laughter.

Only love can melt the ice of a frozen heart. Only love can release the tears.

The tears of joy that only living and loving can free.

He couldn’t cry his tears of joy because, as yet, he lay frozen, waiting, aching for the warmth of love to melt him free.

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