The Boy Who Lived Poem by William Reading

The boy awoke with a gasp
In the dark bedroom,
He heard his dog stirring
And old, wise trees scratching at his window
As if trying to tell him something
Speaking in an ancient language

He closed his eyes, unable to sleep
And without looking, turned his clock away
The light illuminating his room,
Sending shadows dancing around his walls
Like Native Americans around a great bonfire
The presence of the clock ever lingering

His reoccurring nightmare had become
So engrained in him
That he no longer feared it, or what it might mean
He wanted to be a pirate

Skeletons were the characters of his dreams
Flesh and blood setting him apart from the ghoulish sight
His life made him superior, and he embraced it
Who were these skeletons?

What bothered him was their voices
Ringing in his head even when he was awake
His mother’s voice became like them
And some of his friends, and his teachers

Most adults seemed skeleton to him
Children not yet affected by the great evil:
Indifference.

A skeleton is empty, lifeless, and foul
They roam the earth
Purposeless beings doing useless things
Producing, consuming
And for what?

They disgust the pirates of this world
They frighten the children
Go to school they say
Get a good job they say
And they brainwash the young ones, who pass the message along
To the next generations
An entire race of humans controlled by, and existing in
Fear.

A dark and passionless void
A veil over the face of mother earth
But children, the princes and princesses of light,
Warriors of shadow, philosophers of life
They alone have the power—the shining stars of Humanity’s Hope

As the boy grew
And experienced more time
The veil failed to reach him,
The beacon of passion
And his comrades surrounded him, and he them

They left their homes
Where their families were corrupted by the fear, the darkness
And they sought adventure everywhere, around every corner of the world
The boy wept of happiness as his vessel cut through the sea

In defiance of the lifelessness
The excuses of humans that may as well be a pile of bones
For they that do not live are dead already
He lived unafraid, with a zest for life

And he was a pirate.