There inlaid was a nightmare
a filler of dark, of cold
the boy dreamt alone and sought nothing but sleep
but in that sleep what dreams came were not
what he asked for
Not at all
There inlaid was a terror
a fear of stark, of utter horror
the boy knew what was coming and sought nothing but to stay awake
and in that wakefulness what thoughts could come were not
what he wanted
Not at all
There inlaid was a sorrow
a chestpain so deep, so undying
the boy knew what was true but wanted nothing but for it to be a lie
and in that cringe a revelation came that was not
what he expected
Not at all
There inlaid was a fantasy
with wings so broad, so full
the boy knew that here he could win every battle and take every stride
and in those clouds he would never fall
or falter
Never, not at all
So after each nightmare and wakeful terror
whenever he would cringe for pains and hearts never stolen
the boy allowed himself to find false strength
in a fantasy perhaps but reality enough for him to stay
himself, a boy
and so in that thoughtless space where he always found bright clouds
as opposed to the dreams and thoughts inside and around him
where there were only shadows
The boy flew.