Deep into the morning nature has taken a quiet turnundisturbed by turmoil the surroundings remain soundless
voiceless he lay on his cradle restless, anxious
the triumph of courage that cannot be found to
conquer the inevitable bond of confinements to his deprivation
along with a deafening silence ringing resonance within
like gongs of warfare.
A warfare to him seemed much familiar
in spite of the still struggles which proved to be planted
long before his days of battle, struggle
against the pandemonium and frustration, mere psychology.
We remember the events of precedence
and the stories which influenced humanity as we know
tales that sparked pinnacles in our short timeline
history that will never be forgotten, lest it forgets.
Some things better forgotten for they do
plague our minds and please our lusts
yet what is left of our integrity desires otherwise
and yearns to plead to the remains of decency
which lay on this already corroding cradle.
He cannot forget what has already drilled its path
into his unsettled, fractured heart where
fragments missing remain only as intangible thoughts that float in
the vague memories of what used to be.
A benevolence, compassion, beauty, affection
which perhaps will never return to be what it was once
a youthful jubilance with an affinity comparable to an artist with her canvas
a composer with his manuscript.
The days of carefree recreation where nothing stood in their way
the exchange of envelopes which contained love that in fact
mere words could never justify
yet the constant urge to search for ways to exchange this mutual feeling
lead to such playful acts.
Days where they would lose track just to meet eyes
a moment so perfect, one could stare for eternity
but the understanding that this could not happen despite any desire
lead to an eventual smile, a smile almost apologetic
yet still so innocent.
How long must he suffer on his cradle night after night
wondering what could be, and has been.
This disease which seems to have no cure
but the disease itself.
