the small child sits
around a darkened pond
wishing, waiting, breathing upon his woven mits
trying to forget his broken bond
small droplets of black
pour down from darkened eyes
and mark their track
the child stands, looks upon
a single flower that was never there
and gives a glow to the childs hair
this boy stands upon his stone
and proclaims what he has lost, his world unknown
forgotten by all but few, the child sits and squanders life
upon his stone a brandished knife
he holds the knife still against his breathing chest
and remembers his mothers comforting breast
all sorrow in this little boy will soon be gone
his blood may spill across the lawn
a time will come when the knife is dropped
for this boy could not take a life
be it his, hers, theirs or ours
yet still he sits and ponders how
a life that could have been so well
is lost because of small mistakes
desiring for what was before
a small boy he was, and nevermore