Ash black night.
Whipping river rain.
The screams like hammers.
A home is dying.

The night is a physical thing.
Flooded with the rapid waters of change.
The boy inside his room is oblivious,
he can hardly hear the rain over the massacre

The crack of thunder
sickly syncopated
with the rending of a vow.
The window is his world.

Light is born, and dies all at once.
Searing the shelter he calls home.
He sits, tiny to the world.
Perfect picture of alone.

There’s a war in the sky
and another down the hall
Which will never be long enough
To drown out the ceaseless splitting.

It seems the rain will not be ignored
soon, its prattling is the only sound.
Somehow time skipped this place,
Stole away a childhood to the deepness of night.

Dawn is breaking
Illuminating what is broken
The boy that was, is among the pieces,
but wiser, older eyes cannot find him.