Wednesday, November 18, 2009

And There He Sat. . .

And there he sat…
Battered, watched a hand thrust his glasses,
With the corner of his lip bleeding,
Silencing the pain, and draining his cry.

And there he sat…
Head buried in his violet-coloured shins.
Tear stuck half way down his cheek,
As the rest cheered on for a victory on the field.

And there he sat…
Wondering why cupid’s arrow missed,
Watching love bloom, on the left of his heartbeat,
Walking right through him.

And there he sat…
Suited up, but eyes looking south,
With folded arms, while the rest of the room,
Applauded the man who left his moral ethics in his Ferrari.

And there he sat…
On a chair with wheels,
Watching his grown-ups squabble in conflict,
Through his blurring vision.

And there he lay...
His face, as white as the sheet he rest upon,
His complete existence flashed before his eyes,
Like an intact, un-tampered memory,
Before his eyes shut, as the sea drowned the Sun.

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