An Old Boy

many an old boy come telling tales and                                                                                          whispering whispers late in the night                                                                                                   they tell it until its embedded deep into                                                                                                 the mind, the soul, the heart, the lungs, the brain,                                                                                  those who tell these stories want them to be profound and deep.                                                   Deeper than the loneliness of a black hole and sometimes twice as black.                                              I hear these tales knowing that MY life is nothing but light                                                                       and merriment compared to theirs. A sweet melody composed by Bach or Beethoven compared          to cacophony of arguments, beatings, and nights of shedded tears.                                               These children lonely and broken by the pain                                                                                      that encompasses the world around us with a blood stained                                                                   cloth and as red as an eternal fire. Their stories be them dark, scary,                                                       tragic, lonely or all of the above they inadvertantly bring me hope.                                                           A HOPE that never truly fades just as blue skies that appeared                                                        engulfed by gray clouds but leave when the morning comes.