A soul painted gray

With a tear that can’t be seen,

A fabric torn and old

From the child it once gleaned.

A pocket full of rocks

Feels like a pocket full of hope,

And time slows down and stops

When you touch the hanging rope.

A stomach with a hole

Because it never feels hunger,

A boy of skin and bone

Starved since he was much younger.

A sun that never rises

And a moon that’s never full.

A world utterly quiet

For the emptiness it pulls.

A tree standing alone

In a forest of its dead friends,

Forever all alone

No seeds will grow from barks dead ends.

A world in which our pain

Feeds the ones who cause our grief,

Making a cycle of the same

Brief release from our beliefs.