Where do all the lost boys go?
The rag tag scruffy band
of tiny merry men
playing Robin hood again,
The kings of
flying fancy,
dragons dancing
in the fire lit night,
the little wrathful
waking warriors,
The lonely eyes,
with scraped
and soon to be
scabbed up knees,
The oily skin
and dripping tears
accompanied by
snot that drip drops,
The searchers,
tiny adventurers,
monster hunters,
The little victims,
who follow the whims
of cruel dictators,
of vile violators,
of demon desecrators
on their soft flesh?
When all the madness
seems to pass
and only the stillness
finally lasts,
when they finally
silence the bad,
quieting
the nightmares
they had,
after peering
through
windows,
searching
the artic cold
of winter’s
harsh white snow,
searching for
a safety
they have never
known,
please tell me
cause I don’t know,
where do
the lost boys
go to?