That boy who found the lion all caged up,
his mind parishes from life,
death surely caught up...

Dry eyes, dry eyes!
His conscious said,
crying never helped anyone not even your own death.
Dry eyes, dry eyes.
His tears stopped.
Dripping from his cheeks,
he grew an unremarkable smirk.

His false happiness became his likely attitude,
an open wound to an open heart beating with refuse.
That poor lion roared clawing for his escape,
but those dry eyes locked with his instinct and ended his pain.

Sorrow struck,
Along with a thinly boxed in match...
Flame.

Ash rains down
An ocean it creates
Leaves filtering up above
The wind is its waves
Sharing burnt lungs
Non stop flame
The only extinguish to this fire
Is now the tears on his face.