Thursday, November 25, 2004
There he goes pacing, this young man,
I see his shadows through the shades;
Drawn to lift them but didn't dare
For then his face he hid and fled
I know my shadow is all he'd see
From behind the blinds that us divide
He reaches out and reaches in
His arms are weak, too frail and thin
He cries out with all his being
Screaming, cursing, with voiceless words;
They fly and hurtle towards me,
Scratching, gouging, making craters.
'Why? ' he asks, the eternal, WHY?
Flailing his arms against that sky.
I reply with hoarse crackling sounds,
Noises of one without the answers.
I stand before him fixedly,
Stared down the shadow at myself
It is dark in there, in his room
But at night this Youth's windows glow.
At the time when all is quiet,
What is it he might be doing?
He reaches in and reaches out,
Arms not needed to block the sun.
The shades roll up of their own will,
No blinding light to sear his face
And then his sparkling eyes meet mine,
His silent words bestowing life.
Topic(s) of this poem: poet,rhyme