From childhood he always was alone and told
to speak only when spoken to and could not
bring his speech to blossom full nor form the
words his bosom ached to hear of love.
He could not take his fill of water from the well
for sorrow washed away his innocence and kept
him still beneath the pillow under head while
always alone he drew from stormy seas a life so
soulless quiet and still that only the mouse that
ran across his cracked floor would stop for
breath and watch him kill his love of boyhood
for the morrow.
From the mountains that he wished to climb
and like the rocky cliffs and tales of yore he
saw the greens and blues of summers last
spent and crushed under foot by hooves and
heavy wheels that turned only in his nightmares
held so closely to his charge.
From the heavens that opened up and shed
her shades of blue upon his soul he knew
that only dragons and demons held the clue
to his existence on this surface edge of
madness with a lightening speed of hue
and falling sand through hour glasses of
yesterdays gone by he watched his
boyhood slip away and into madness
forlorn and lost.
Less it be a dream within a dream as Poe
so penned fraught with misery sadness
and woe a boyhood life without an end
to melancholy strife and Abuse hidden
so deep within his room alone and lost
for want of love is all he asked no more
than that from whom would listen to
his plea alone is he and lost within his
dreams of misery all alone he waits
for life to reappear once more and
set the tone for mother’s love for her
boy so all alone in his room he weeps
but no one hears.
© Copyright Vincent Moore 2012. All Rights Reserved