There is a boy who lives in that

White house across the street,

Sits all day, just thinking about the

People he wants to please

The values he knows he must uphold,

And so on

 

And he knows that he can’t meet

All these things, not at once, not now

He runs and he runs and he hides himself

Behind his hands, running from the things

He created, hiding from the demons

He chose on.

 

There behind the veil he himself strung up,

He sees her gaunt cheeks,      - hazel eyes

They seek nothing but what she already

Sees. And he sighs and he sighs and he says

“What does she mean!” and he paces and the night

Still goes on.

 

And the day after, the boy returns to find her gone

He seeks her and cannot find her again,

Weeping, he lies down on his bed and thinks

The wind batters his window and he shrinks

Back into the bed, frightened, and the wind

It blows on and on and he knows

 

All the sudden, he knows. He has the answer

And it was the simplest answer he could have known

And it started with the pen and the feeling of being alone.

And it grew, and he knew

That in a short time the thing he needed most would come to him.

And his pen it flows on and it shows him that he is the one who this whole time

 

Knows that he has been held the key in his hand for years

He had been saying in his mind what he could have been telling those around them

And brightening their days, and shortening the hours

With convivial conversation, and the exaltation of the senses.

And he begins to write poetry,

And so on