Standing the boy stood
bereaved, beneath the
mourning darkness as
he awaits the Moon
to budge:
his outlook choked with
uncertainty, & troubled
with dismay…
Un-cheer in an oasis
of the lost night
wandering in silent
tears, talking to
his mama’s empty
body to gain back
weight of life…
Everyday is the second
in rank heyday, & holy
day of exultation —
The grit and the cliché
Boy roam in thought
as he puts down all
his weapon of war,
retreating to his
empty room:
Where his mother had
had her Last Supper
with no Saviour
But with an uninvited
diner whose name
is Rapture, from the
deep:
Death…
an inevitable guest
showed up at dinner
hungrier…
and made off with
its spoils — leaving
prints by the window
Now boy is scared
looking out to the
future…
For these prints
are frightening
to catch his
sight
For they remind
him of a scene
unbroken; of
a sin unforgiven
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