Their was once a little boy who no one really loved.
Yet without much he reached the effect.
Without a mothers embrace he loved to love without segregation.
Without the sadness of a day to day life he learned to weep in times of sadness.
Without a girl to embrace he learned to recognize the importance of a single live rose bud.
Without those brown hash eyes that could see through your soul.
The boy learned to read without any novel to accompany his loneliness.
Without a reason he learned sarcasm.
No one really learned to care about the boy and yet through prejudice he learned to fly.
Without the intent to learn he satisfied his growing imagination.
Without comedy he learned to laugh without reason and without fault. He even learned to stitch his cuts without the proper tools.
Without the searing pain of loss in his underside he learned optimism.
For those who he did not see neither know.
Without common peer pressure he became ever reluctant.
No one ever really learned to love this little boy and through all plans of destruction he persevered.
Without the window pane he learned to concoct a beautiful forest of the greatest imagery.
The boy learned to fly, through all hardships he learned to soar.
He learned to jump the pedestal and while the rose grew through concrete he learned to soar over the rose and smell its decadence.
Bless those who learned without attention.
Sometimes if you happen to sit outside at night look up he perches on the moon and stares at his once enclosed prison that never allowed outside access.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem