As the eyes become less moist
And the heartbeats less frantic
Moving on appears a real possibility
The spirit remains convinced
Of its irreparability.
Punished one too many times
By an unkind world,
Trickling into a slow-rising tide
Kept at bay beneath the shadows
Capable of transforming anytime
Into an all-consuming wave.
As if by routine
The heart feebly attempts
To bleed inwards
And fill up anything unhealed
While the lungs desperately gasp
For air between breaths
Choosing to fight for a cruel life
Over a non-existent one.
Outstretched arms emerge from within
In finding a piece of home
Somewhere, something, someone
Anything to bring warmth to a world
That has known none.
That the boy standing at its doorway
And that that’s okay.