A child, a ghost in foreign land
Where fun and laughter slowly died
A life of doubt and shifting sand
So empty, so forgotten
A mere byword begotten
No longer strength or will to cry
A lad of great potential
Alas, that’s what was said
Now a tale circumstantial
A book of dead enigma
And illustrated stigma
A hollow vessel walks instead
Born of love, naive and young
With all best-willed intentions
Aome stories sad when they’re begun
Want and hunger was the norm
Days of hurt, and tears, and storm
Giving up all false pretensions
And as he grew, he jaded
Like Dad, he did not fit
Friends and family masqueraded
Gifts and wrappings for the son
No, the ploy fooled none, not one
Claiming love, but not one bit
One day her breath was taken
Twenty-seven was her age
Mom left a young boy shaken
Through pain he held the tears
A skill he’s kept for years
Learning young to turn the page
And it goes on, this spiral
Never reach, no prize attained
It seems it’s wicked, viral
A subtle curse upon his soul
Living homeless takes its toll
A knack for failure, so ingrained
In this one thing, he’s prospered
Learned to quite enjoy the pain
And the happiness he conquered
Like a leaf enwrapped in pyre
How the days burn and conspire
To make his dreams so disdained
Alas, his days are growing fewer
As he prays his God for grace
‘Cause these words were never truer
Man has no given power
And knows not his day or hour
Honest men fear not steps retraced