The Boy, His Windows, and What They Have Accepted (and What they lost?)

I'm not sure whether this poem should be titled ' The Boy, His Windows, and What They Have Accepted' or ' The Boy, His Windows, and What They Lost'. This is the last of the poems about The Boy.

He's back.

He sits alone

Eyes focused in a thoughtful

Glare. The world is standing.

He continues walking

And walk to where?

There's nowhere to

Walk to. All paths lead

To the same cycle which

Creates the Shadow that

Turns the world into

A statue.

 

He walked the streets of nothingness,

Hearing screams of obscenity and

Seeing those attempting to float

Away, destroyed by madness

Created by their neighbors.

 

He tried to blend,

To become indistinguishable

Among them; his demeanor

Preventing. It was not even

Possible for one with such enigmious

Qualities to mix with such a world.

He begins a southern journey

Down the street.

He felt no need to fight anymore.

Perhaps then he wouldn't sit,

Staring and thinking useless

Thoughts of why and what if.

Why not fall subjected to a

World that hatches more misery

Each day? It's so much easier

Not to think, not to reflect

On actions and just commit

Them, forgetting all consequences,

All prices, all morals, all standards.

 

He continued south, trying to look back,

To Look north, but it was too hard to

Turn around. Being separated

From everything because of

What you are is unbearable.

His walk went on, further and further

From where he came, watching the

Screaming, hysterical world

Slip deeper, farther from the Light.

 

He stops.

There's no where to go.

His bright eyes furrow in

Frustration as he realizes

He has lost.

They've won.

 

He looks around at the

World he towers over.

Everything everyone

Submissive to the misery and

Revolting destruction

Refuses to see.

He listens to what seems

Normal to them but makes

Him want to scream.

He has fought for as long as

He can remember but it's

Taken him nowhere. His

Red lips remain firmly shut.

They've won.

He stood looking toward the

Crowding south of the avenue

And finally turned to look toward

The north  from which he came.

North was much less inhabited and

Its population grew fewer every hour.

 

He closed his eyes in

Fear of the realization.

They've won.

He's trapped.

 

I watch him with

Tears in my eyes as

He's alone, feeling as if

There is no longer any

Familiarity in the north;

All he held was either

Decaying or dead.

He will never know that

I stood here, waiting for him

While he waited for me.

 

Author's Note

Remember, honesty is the best policy.

Reviews

[.]

"All paths lead
To the same cycle which
Creates the Shadow that
Turns the world into
A statue."
Awesome poem!!!
...This has a somber/lost mood to it:)
"He will never know that
I stood here, waiting for him
While he waited for me.'
well written:)
i love it!!!

james:-)