The Boy Who Cried Love



On a bench, so close together, 

They hardly notice the stormy weather.

She turns and sees his open stare. 

Dare she believe she sees it there?

As he leans forward, away the mask peels, 

So deep is the truth of what he feels.

“I love you,” he says, a moment so rare; 

So tender, and true and full of care.

How do you seal a moment like this? 

They both lean in and then they kiss.

Lightning forks across the park, 

And he tells her that it’s destiny’s mark.



That was the first time; she knew it was right, 

So she pushed every doubt out of her sight.

Only much later than that fateful night 

Would she realise that spark was a trick of the light.



Months and years later: now she looks weary. 

Night after night: why won’t he come near me?

She’s perfected the make-up to cover black eyes. 

Having learnt from the master, she’s an expert at lies.

Such a distance between them; a silent space. 

The closest they get is fist to face.

Then later, a text message: Sorry, luv ya babe. 

And that’s when she cries, and her make-up fades.

At night she tries to picture his face lit up, 

On that bench in the town where they both grew up.

But it slips and slides, and his drunken snores remind her 

That, whoever that was, he’s not lying beside her.



She knows words come easy; for him talk is cheap. 

But surely some are sacred. Some promises you must keep.

Gradually she stops believing, and her mistake is seen: 

She put her faith in whispered words and an ill-timed fork of lightning.



The clatter of a body falling down stairs, 

Then ringing silence fills the air.

He hadn’t meant to push her down. 

Now all he can do is stand and drown

In tormented thoughts. He waits by the phone. 

She’ll soon be out of hospital, but won’t be coming home.

He went to her sister’s house; they wouldn’t let him in. 

She stood at the window, and he saw how she hated him.

And at night he pictures her face lit up, 

On that bench in the town where they both grew up.

Outside, lightning cracks the sky, 

And he remembers what he said, and cries.



Somehow those words, that were once so sacred, 

Became easy to use, worn and jaded.

And now his bed is empty, and he realises too late 

That a boy who treats love carelessly seals his own fate.

And a boy who cries love as loosely as he

Must finally learn where such misuse leads:

The damage done will never depart, 

And the price you pay is two broken hearts.