Neverending Song (The Song Of A Mournful Heart) Poem by Bethany Maxwell

Hear the child’s song,
As he sings his mournful cry to the skies above his head.
The only music in his words is the rain drops on the roof.
He watches with tears flowing down his cheeks,
He watches the wind blow the branches that scape against the walls.
Hear his song as he longs for a loving touch,
A mother’s hug.
In his own silent afterlife he watches,
As the world carries on around him.
His arms wrapped tight around his legs,
His hair uncut and knotted,
As tears stain his cheeks with salt water so rich,
Hear his silent song as he sings to those few who see him,
In his solitary windowsill in the house that was once his home he sits and Sings.
Nothing mattering to him but that that has past,
Nothing breaking his everlasting chorus,
But be careful do not listen for to long or his sorrow shall become your own,
You shall fall into rhythm with his voice,
And you will not leave,
But stay and melt into the stars that he rests his feet apon.
His prison will become your sanctuary,
His tomb, your grave,
His song, shall be your own form of reality.
In the dark stairwell you will stay with him.
Watching the endless lightnight lighting the sky,
The endless thunder the keeping time with the wind which is the music to his song.
You will fade to nothing at his feet, and he won’t even pause.
He will continue his cry to the god he once knew,
Crying for salvation for forgiveness, for the one thing that he can never have again.
And his tears will flow on running down his face to his tattered clothing,
His eyes ever fixed on the dark sky outside that expresses his pain, his agony,
His heart still in a ody somewhere, never to beat the beat of life again,
And still he will sing his mournful cry.
Listen to the child’s cry, but don’t stay long,
Or you will become the rain that beats down on the fortress around him,
Your own sorrowful tears that you shed for him, shall become the music,
To the child’s mournful cry.