• And then I look into his eyes, littered with
    Bodies, flooded with tears. Scars
    Caress the hopeless orbs that lay in
    Deep pools of amber. The colour is an
    Equal yellow to the pages of an old book. Pages that tell a
    Fair story of his past: the rights and wrongs, the lives and deaths, the
    Gashes that “maybes” and “whys” dig that
    Harbor meaning to his lifeless stare.
    It’s hard to understand this boy, he
    Jests and smiles with his friends, he
    Keeps his feelings to himself, but when he’s
    Lonesome, out pour hopes and
    Memories. What is to come
    No one knows. So far, he hasn’t had the best life, but fate is
    Open to change. His one true wish is to
    Produce a single song, a great one. But for now, he remains
    Quiet. He often sits alone and feels the beat
    Rush through his head, but he can never catch the notes in time.
    Some say he’s hopeless, others
    Think he has a chance. As I watch him fish for music in his mind and
    Utter words that only he can hear, I cannot help but feel
    Very bad for him, for his past has brought these feelings to his life. The
    Wish, he’s always had, but he still watches the notes flit off into the
    X-traordinary fire of the moon. The song will never be written, the
    Years go by, but still he sits, watching a
    Zephyr of cold wind drag the music, his spirit, away.