The Stoic Man

This poem is dedicated to a friend of mine whom I absolutely adore. Of course, there are times when I feel the urge to aim a punch at his stoic face. The only reason why I do not follow through with this urge is because his tough square jaw will fracture my fist.

The stoic man will not
wear his heart upon his sleeve. 
He will show that he does not care, 
and so, he will make you believe.   

But beneath layers of stoic exterior,
Is a gentle soul confined.
A soul, which stirs and yearns, 
Like souls of every kind. 

A soul which won't directly praise,
Your eyes or the curve of your hips. 
But who will kiss you gently enough,
to not smudge the gloss upon your lips. 

A soul whose expressions-
behind layers of sternness hide, 
A soul that feels pain, hurt, 
Heartache, passion and pride. 

Because of his stoic exterior, 
And predatorily menacing appeal, 
He is largely misunderstood, 
as someone who does not feel. 

You may be lead to believe, 
By his large, smouldering eyes, 
That he is indifferent and unmoved, 
By your feelings and cries.

But I am not fooled, 
Not anymore at least, 
I know the stoic man cares, 
And just pretends to be a beast. 

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