Waiting

The small child sits
Around a darkened pond.
Wishing, waiting, breathing upon his woven mits,
Trying to forget his broken bond.
Small droplets of black
Pour down from darkened eyes,
And mark their track.

The child stands, and looks upon
A single flower that was never there,
And gives a glow to the childs hair.

This boy stands upon his stone,
And proclaims what he has lost, his world unknown.
Forgotten by all but few, the child sits and squanders life,
Upon his stone and brandished knife.

He holds the knife still against his beating chest,
And rememebers his mothers comforting breast.
All sorrow in this little boy will soon be gone,
His blood may spill across the lawn.

A time will come when the knife is dropped,
For this boy could not take a life,
Be it his, hers, theirs or ours.
Yet still he sits and ponders how
A life that could have been so well
Is lost because of small mistakes.
Desiring for what was before,
A small boy he was, and nevermore.  ¶ 9:34 PM