In the warmth of a Midsummer's day
He found himself shrouded by darkness
No ray of sunshine seemed to pierce
Irony of which he hated to say

His demons were fighting for display
For years he ran, ignoring his brokenness
Breaking points came and went
All of which bore a cost he didn't want to pay

Problems compounded, as did his fierceness decay
All he wanted was empathy and grace
Time would heal he believed
His old wounds rotting, never healing

If only he could come to terms with his own insecurities
He picked the scabs that needed care
In the Midsummer's heat, the cost became clear
No one could decide his path, nor were miracles his key

Should he turn around and face the sun
Would the war be won
No crusade concludes with retreat
Confrontation was his need

Not by knife or gun ablaze
But by actions, acknowledgement, belief
What more could he say?
Would answers come by asking another?

A fool's folly, facetious belief
His upbringing was not his burden
And his reactions were not excuses
As other's actions were their own

It is with hope he comes to terms
Accepting what has come and gone
For then true growth begins
A cautious hope came again

It was on this Midsummer's day
The boy became a man
With acceptance, his demons stayed
What was more was his change

Maybe then a ray of sun
Could evolve into healing heat
Comfortably warming this newborn man
Instead of scorching the neck of the son