Letter to a Young Tortured Soul

When we met you said you were dangerous, A word like licking knife blades, razor sharp; Dancing in silk slippers on an icy-slick roof-edge. You said it to sound dark and brooding, A walk on the wrong side of the tracks. But I think what you really wanted, Was to be thought a broken bird, Songless and sinking in sorrow’s sea You wanted someone to care for you, And worship at your cathedral of pain. I wonder what you would do If I looked directly at you And told you that-- Oh, you innocent child! -- You are not dangerous, or Even broken. You are lonely.