on the walk home tonight the stars seemed to speak
like fireflies buzzing – or was it the headlights on the freeway?
the sounds of the sky muffled by flourescent noise

I often wonder if the stars we gaze upon
look down on us and think to themselves, is this really home?
they seem so content with their space

maybe meteors are sad bits of energy
longing to escape the realm of their reality
or maybe they’re just lost and stuck like the rest of us

staring into the universe even breathing seems obsolete
for there is so much more than what we see when we look outside our windows
do we see our creator?
or just our own creations?

I see a boy who is stuck
with cement blocks on his feet
locked up inside his own body and mind
but the key is on the other side

there’s a postman walking by
he sees the boy through a window
he wonders to himself Why is he trapped?
but more than that How can I help?

the postman walks by every day
bringing him bread and something to drink
he doesn’t realize that this boy
is a prisoner of himself

a little girl rides her bike past him each day
she taps on the window and asks
why do you stand here alone?
doesn’t anybody want you?

the boy stares blankly
she gives him a flower
she says Some day you’ll be loved
but you need to get out by yourself

one day the bread and the water stop coming
the little girl has moved away
the familiar squeak of her bicycle has vanished
and the flower is wilting in his hand

he stands by the window
waiting for someone
and the girl’s words ring in his ears
nobody can help you now

he doesn’t move
he only cries
he drinks himself to sleep at night
with cement blocks on his feet

some time has passed
the girl, now a woman and the postman return
and pass the window
to see a tombstone where the boy used to be