Where is the cheerful spirit I once held?
What happened to the glow in my eyes that used to be?
My heart was once filled to the brim with hope.
As I grew older that person slowly died.

A child dreaming of wealth and castles.
A man barely scraping by, sometimes without food.
The fire in the boy’s soul could be felt through his eyes.
The man’s eyes are eager to close for the final time.

The young one wanted to change the world.
The elder just wants to survive in it.
Optimism replaced with betrayal induced cynicism.
The innocence in the youngster’s soul left long ago.

With age came the evolution of my mind and withering of my heart.
This is the passing of youth.

The sun shines no longer as nightfall approaches.
Rain begins tap-dancing on my window.
Save for the elements, silence rings.
By the light of the moon I begin to reflect.

I remember times of youthful euphoria.
I had not a care in the world save for essays, fun, and slumber.
It seems as though bills and taxes are all I have time to worry about nowadays.
If only the hands of time could be turned back.

I remember friends I no longer know.
Where are they and what has become of them, I wonder.
I can only pray that life has been good to them.
Some I hear, have already met death.

I think of myself, for life is uncertain.
Will I reach the dreams I once held dear?
Will I fill those who love me with pride?
Will I die before I can do any of that?
Much to my dismay, the answers are held only by father time.

My eyes grow heavy as I tire from pondering.
I lie down to begin a good night’s sleep induced from moonlit thoughts.

The last time I was home feels like an eternity ago.
I wonder if my wife and children still love me.
Do they even remember my face?  
Will I ever see them again?

For nearly a year we’ve waged war.
At times I feel like I don’t even know what for.
Squabbles over government, weapons, power, fear, nowadays it all feels the same.
Some say we do it for our country.
Sadly her habit of injustice makes me question whether patriotism is worth losing my life.

A good night of slumber interrupted by a boom.
Another bomb, if only God would intervene and end this war.
Upon reaching the site of the explosion I’m greeted by bullets flying overhead.
It isn’t the combat that lingers in my mind however; it’s the carnage that follows.
We manage to drive away the enemy, but the scene around us will torment me until I die.

A village once thriving and exuberant, now a ghosttown in more ways than one.
Our captain yells to check for any survivors.
Tearing apart the rubble, I find all of them dead.
One is lying in a pool of blood; he looks just like my son.
Tears flood my eyes as I stand in the hell called battlefield.

This space lies between the present and my future desires.
For some it is heaven on Earth.
Others think hell can’t be much worse.
A cruel place indeed you are indeed.

Supposedly all are born equal.
That’s funny considering some come out of the womb with a silver spoon.
Some are born with no need for a spoon because they have no food.
Some are born into oppression and ostracization.
Inequality, a tragic fact of reality.

In this space we are expected to be happy.
However happiness is an illusion for many.
They feel as if light at the end of the tunnel is nothing but a myth.
Time after time they take their own lives hoping to find solace in death.
Depression, a crippling ailment of reality

Dreams are said to be omnipotent.
However, I’ve seen this place crush too many for that to be true.
Hope withers here.  
This is the cage known as reality.

To get home, I take the trudge through this warzone every day.
Broken bottles line the sidewalk.
Well people have to cope somehow.
Sunlight never shines through the blinds because the windows are boarded.

This isn’t the type of place you go sightseeing, but I’ll be your tourguide for today.
First stop is the corner store; here you’ll find the toothless men who leave the broken bottles.
I’m sure whatever story they’re telling is great.
Truly sad it is that you nor I will ever be able to decipher their slurred tales.

To your right you’ll see a young girl.
Excuse her attire; that’s just typical uniform in her line of work.
“What kind of product is she selling?” you may wonder.
She isn’t selling the product; she is the product.
Sad as it may be, that’s one of the more prominent parts of the workforce around here.
If her mother were sober, maybe she wouldn’t have needed employment.

As we continue our walk, be sure to keep straight.
Most who detour into the allies don’t come back.
If only my friend had known that when he moved here.
He was always a gambler, but that night he lost money and a lot more.

You may also be wondering why those walking past us have such vacant eyes.
Around here we don’t get much sleep.
The sounds of bullets ricocheting often keeps us awake.
If not that, for me it’s the screams of lady next door.
Her husband is a giant but far from a gentle one.

I must bid you adieu now; you’d be best not to stay past sundown.
I pray this tour hasn’t left you scarred.

This sensation is an escapist’s dream.
The absence of one’s worries.
The nonexistence of strife.
The joy born from amnesia.

Although, the path to attaining this peace taints the one who searches for it.
The cold tip of the needle sends a chill throughout my body.
I can fell all of my troubles draining out as happiness surges through my veins.
Other times my relief flies in through my nose.
Sometimes my sanity is wrapped up, all nice and neat.

However, when in this state, better judgement is left for dead.
Then again, it’s not like I know.
Knowledge of happenings while I’m in this state, I have not.
I know only what I’m told when I come to.
“Give it up,” they say.
If only they knew, what they consider addictions are the keys to bliss.

Sought for by all, truly achieved by few.
So many search for years, decades, some even their entire lifetime to find you.
Despite the ever-growing search party, you’ve remained elusive as ever.
The path leading to you is seemingly never straight.

The “wise” say you’re found within, but in a life of struggle that seems to prove false.
After all, the happenings outside of one’s heart sway the happenings inside.
No game is harder than that of life.
Never is the game of life more difficult when one is dealt a bad hand.
And for every king you draw, life holds an ace.

For some this bad hand is the player’s hand never holding money.
Some scratch and claw living paycheck to paycheck.
  Struggling to evade eviction as they watch the rich pop champagne.
Often times food must be forsaken for shelter, water, and lights.

For others this hand is dealt to them in youth.
The eyes of a child should be filled with hope.
Many of those eyes are filled with tears due to constantly being told their existence is unwanted.
Sometimes their eyes instead of being filled with tears are swelled shut.
Their desire to be loved never being satisfied.

Commonly, this hand is dealt by the hand of a loved one going cold.
Seeing the body of one you cherished lying motionless.
Even though you know you’ll see them again, the pain still lingers for a lifetime.

When given cards like these, the player seldom wins the prize of happiness.