Trust Poem by Adam Pinheiro

In the open crowd, a cavalcade of faces,
A minority in the menagerie; his prison,
And on his brow a quake, a quiver,
Behind those eyes the dams of depression,
Building, forcing, holding back,
The murky madness that slowly drives him;
Drives him off this cliff, cowardice.
And they’re reaching for hastened hands,
They’re pulling, but forcing, they’re killing,
Ripping him, pushing, tearing, ruining—
Outside their eyes, a glint, a sneer,
Tricks, torrents; trading faces.
And was he supposed to guess,
That hearts of gold were in fact too cold
Too feel for feelings, his fear and cheer.
Trust is fickle, tricky tale,
A tale too terrible—long since past,
Trust did vanish, and in it’s place;
The story of a lonely boy.