Where is the child
He fears those things he loved once
Colourful toys and his painting books
And they smiled and he laughed
he gave them colours and he was their god
They told the tales and he listened
And they danced with the songs he sang
he found and he lost, those things he loved once
In his cupboard, he heard the cursing sounds,
In his cupboard, he heard the cursing sounds,
And their whispering screams
And their dusty noisy coughs
Those days are gone, and the child is no more
He is dead and his joyful mind
Blinded heart has forgotten such toys
Creepy hands have forgotten such arts
But the toys are waiting, soon he will change
Colours will bloom once again by his hands..
Did his boyhood die along with the colours?
ReplyDeleteYeah I think so
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