I am naught but intuitive and perhaps a bit savvy,
And you might say, rather smart-alecky.
But stop and consider before you judge and conclude,
That perhaps I know something, perhaps I am shrewd.
Affairs of the heart, which you always deride,
I, too, have suffered - I, too, try and hide.

Equipped with humour, you protect yourself;
Shielding, defending and guarding yourself.
None can get close; no-one would dare,
An impartial player, you are filled with despair.
A kernel of hope lies deep in your breast,
Perhaps one day, your heart might be blessed.

To stumble upon love, to believe and trust;
An impossible dream, after which we all lust.
Your quest has led you to trouble and strife,
You ask what it takes to have peace in your life.
Forever doubting and carefully reserved,
Your heart is a stronghold, always preserved.

There is no way to anneal what your heart still feels.
Without exception, you endeavour to conceal.
The depth of your pain and the span of your hurt,
You hide and protect; surviving, inert.
People are shallow and their feelings feigned;
Never truly caring your heart is tear-stained.

If a man such as you could feel the freedom of love,
Your soul would fly; it would lift above.
In this messy world full of heartache and strife,
What remains of your heart would beat into life.
And you?d fly amongst the furthest stars,
Free at last from all those hurtful scars.

Of faults I have many, but there are two I?d not eschew;
They are - being too honest and being too true.
If I told you I cared, that your heart would not suffer,
I would say it with truthfulness and that is my honour.
I realize you?d hesitate and perhaps disbelieve,
But all I seek is a moment... to plant the seed.