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NARMONSEA Feb 2015
Limping through the streets at night,
A toy soldier, with all his might,
Living life whilst on one leg,
Crying tears, he starts to beg.

In this rain he can be seen
From door to door, for he seeks
Something but he doesn't know
For what purpose did he live for.

The rain pours down, the raindrops thicker,
In anguish with his hand on the trigger
Shooting the sky, his face turns grim
He curses the being that created him.

This toy had forgotten the meaning of love,
Useless, thrown away and shoved
Like trash, to the side of the street,
The gears rust and the joints creak.

His master gave up on his use,
No more fun, now all this abuse
Led to his life being thrown away,
No love ever came and no love will stay.

Drenched up to his red petticoat,
This drowning flood will make him float
Away from the wonders of life,
He tries to speak but ends in strife.

No sound can come out,
No sound will come out,
No sound can ever be heard.

For you're just a toy!
A place to belong?
Hah! That's completely absurd.


Winding himself up one last time,
He knocks on Door No. 9:
A mansion, pillars, and marble grand,
The gates open and there she stands:

A slender figure, his saving grace,
A caring master with a beautiful face
Who could prevent his lonely death
If not for his dying breath.

"You are broken, but I won't mourn,
I'll heal you until you are reborn.
I'll make sure you feel love again,
You'll never be hurt again my friend."


With her words and angelic gesture
No words weaved could ever measure
The serenity of her caring voice,
The scale at which it brings rejoice.

*No sound can come out,
No sound will come out,
No sound can ever be heard.

But trust me when I say
There's someone out there
Who can listen to your soul,

The deepest, darkest parts
Of your every being,
With the intention of
Healing you, saving you,

Making sure your every being is loved,
You will find what you are looking for,
in Her.
Don't give up.
NARMONSEA Nov 2015
How do you invite change
When what brings you your joyful smile
Isn't there anymore?

Weaving this man's character
To the point of dependence;
As with its absence,
Reverts back to a boy
Crying,
Missing his family,
His opportunity
To grow with the familiar.

Now the darkness is calling to him,
*He answers with tears.

— The End —