It was as Dreamed

It was not as dreamed,

How bright the morning seemed,

Where the first sun of Summer, fresh

Shone upon his youthful flesh,

Where visible still, places scarred,

Where gnashing cruelty had marred,

The tender heart of the youth,

Firmly raked by life's cold tooth

A furnace there yet still remains,

pumping fires through the veins,

fueled by life's curious pleasure,

oblivious to time's quick measure.