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