A Sonnet

He lives in silence. Fiercely keeping taut
his tongue: his eyes, his shoulders tell the truth.
Some speak on his behalf, but this is not
his will. Without explicit words, the proof
of his intent lies dark within his eyes.
The dent beside his jaw speaks louder than—
intently louder than— the thousand lies
that fall from mouths of histrionic men.
He lives in silent truth, above reproof,
beyond the laws and judgment of design,
without pretense and perfectly aloof.
This man, whose soul is dark but still benign,
is noble, beautiful, and too above
the mortal plane to feel my paltry love.