Beneath dying embers, lay an ash crusted heart– Full of shame and regret, full of pain and longing. For words unsaid, for feelings unmet. With a cool breeze, carrying memories of golden trees. For an idol tossed away, with his death as a claimed fate. I stood at the older boy’s bed, the man stood at mine. He said goodbye, not to the teenager but to me. He kissed the boy’s forehead, not for him but for me. He laid flowers for him, in honor of my name. With tears in our eyes, I’m set to be at rest, again. For this man now stands between the walls of sorrow and regret. He found nothing was wrong, yet nothing fit– with clothes overworn, with clothes too tight and small. In a picture frame life, Where there lived shades of gray but no brown, green, or blue. The older boy’s spirit drifted– I felt it, the man did too. I saw it on his face. Then my spirit flowed down the drain, I shone in the sky. Oh do you feel it? I live in the sun, I see me. He’s tired, he’s on the edge. He takes a breath, he sees me, he sees the teenage boy.
I am me, The man is me, and the boy is me, and we lay dead. We wait to be reborn—
Because soon the man too, will die.
I wonder, will we ever breathe again?