KREATiV

The rain is still falling,
even though his tears
all dried before morning.
His pillow is white cotton -
innocent of innocents,
a feel of childhood,
but his childhood days
were not the best -
though it’s better now.

The wind is still blowing,
even though the cries
have all grown quiet
in his nightmare world.
Little boy wonder
in a world full of fools,
no wonder he’s been crying.
I think I would cry too
and howl to the wind.

The thunder has grown quiet,
as quiet as our little boy,
who’s not so little anymore.
He can’t control
his subconscious just yet,
but he keeps his eyes
closed to the light
and forces himself
to once again face night.

There’s a good boy,
there’s our prodigy.
Makes his own dreams now,
makes Utopia real.