The Boy

 

O joy! O joy! A boy is born upon this day
The father, quiet in exaltation,
now filled with expectation,
lays a geas none may sway.
His fate is set.

This boy shall grow strong of limb and mind,
he shall build great things upon the earth
and from his fertile mind give birth,
to riches,
leaving poverty behind.

The boy just gurgles.

And grows into a happy child,
surrounded by loves glow
he's sheltered from life's harm
gets his way with cheerful charm,
but his eyes burn strangely wild.

This world was never enough for him,
he found friends no-one else could see,
he flew and fought, explored and sought
beyond this world of rock and thought
in galaxies bright and grim.

Father concerned,
what does he see?
Where does he go?
Vanishing increasingly,
and not quite returned.

Something happened.

Quiet and alone, distrusting
the boy sees the world anew
all that was bright now askew
he hides himself from all but few.

Now a camera,
just seeing,
feeling naught
learns new lessons
don't be seen
don't get caught.
But its tiring.

And the devils came marching in great explosions of colour and bitter fragments everywhere his prancing form cavorted tween rocks and oases in a burning sea glowing wand waved to people and page and film never lingering long up his arm and nose down throat and lungs a black-hole widening gluttonous neath and behind drawing closer ever running old man's geas now cursed blocking satisfaction to him and all at every turn and leap he fell and foundered leaped again wand waning thin broken patched aeons endless sliding sinking gaining losing till in roaring blackness he he sank into the black sea of ignominy all his worlds receding

oh, so quiet,
glancing up he sees hands,
bare, gloved, gauntletted,
not grasping threatening
but offering help, love, care lifting
he reached back
and found his worlds grown quiet
no devils or blackholes
not crowded or alone

a strange tingling in his fingertips.