bedlam in paradise

the eyes may be the window to the soul
but if that is really true (and i don't know that it is)
one thing that i do know is this:
his eyes were shuttered, blinds squeezed tight
he no daylight in.

all the hard times, the fun times, the strange times,
i thought i knew, i really did,
but inside his soul is no walk in the park,
no, behind those curtains is turmoil,
apocalyptic and dark.

i broke the reflective surface
like the calm of a still lake ripples from one stone
just last week.

he shut me out again, of course,
and now all i can do is helplessly flounder
and try to express that i'm here for him
all while knowing just a fraction of the storm in his soul.

no floodgates opened 
there was no sudden enlightenment, no magic,
just his saccharine smile looking back at me,
empty.

this is not hyperbole i see it in his eyes,
he's lost and he has been for so long.

i wish i could know
i wish i could help
i wish to take all the hurt and the anger and the pain
and hide it,
but he must be the odysseus of his own journey 
and i have my own ship to captain,
so i stand here helplessly by his side. 

i know only my own soul 
and he knows only his
but one thing i can tell is that he is in pain
and i don't know what i can do to help.