Sitting Boy

With the whistling winds in a tunnel’s bend
A boy sits and stares at a timeless end.
Backed into the corner he frowns
Holding back the flow of tears.

Nothing is clear from behind his eyes
Thinking of nothing, but windy skies
Into which he must eventually venture
To pursue his life’s relentless horrors.

Nothing is bright as that shinny diamond.
Everything is cold, or black as coal.
Nothing fits like a ring of endearment.
Everything falls into the infernal pit of hell.

So the boy sits and closes his eyes
To dream of all the better times.
Maybe a dream of the warm sunshine
When everything will be well.

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