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