A boy
and a gift from God.
To possess telepathy and be able to wield it for good and peace
and hear the silent echoes of the meek, reverberating off every river and creek.
So he would hear the pleas, the whimpering cries
swiftly across the plains and under the clear blue skies.
A mental utopia, and still a deserted wasteland
reeking of death, that pungent and putrid scent.
Send forth the dew and into the heavens, a moment of solitude
for the boy crumbles with each new found victory, now a broken fortitude.
We all know good things never last, and this too a lesson in the past
when we see how the world remembers not the works buried in the dust.
Because people don't know what the little boy sees,
the pain he feels like a thousand stings by bees.
They celebrate his accolades when their pain is alleviated
but in other cases, things spiral out of control and his pain is elevated.
Witnesses to him crying and writhing on the floor,
they wait till he struggles for freedom no more.
And back to the cycle of relief and regrets,
and still they don't remember, they can only forget.
But the boy having sworn his tongue to secrecy
is now faced with a choice of utmost indecency.
He cannot confess the pain that he endures
but there was a way out, that he foresaw.
And so the boy took a trip in search of a gun
and he knew not much longer he could live in this sun.
The sweltering heat and blistering sores
the world can now hold him in their silence applause.
And as they took in the sight of his fall
they knew not what it meant once and for all.
Their bitter cries and undeserved shouting
made him realize that this was his calling.
And when he pulled the trigger the shot did so silently
get drowned out by the crowd and their cries oh so valiantly.
Once witnesses to him crying and writhing on the floor,
they see that he struggles for freedom no more.
