Sketches sprawled across an empty room,
While the bright blue illuminates the shadow,
He lies asleep in his one bedroom tomb.
He tried to chase the demons into the night,
Back to hell, to the womb he'd fight,
To be like you or me,
A child born with sight.
A skilled hand that draws the art,
In time and space he took apart,
To find inspiration in a voice,
To see or not he has no choice.
He's deaf, he's blind, he's numb, he's shook,
As he holds the year book,
To scared to look.
His picture no where,
Speak - hah, he wouldn't dare.
Infront of these people he's a walking ghost,
But shh, this kid he's not like most.
You might think he's blind,
Or one of 'that' kind,
But trust me he's fine,
You just won't give him the time
Of day to hear his story,
Or let him speak,
That man in him I know I seek.
Awaken the dragon,
For he shall scourge and reap,
Everyone who took that child within the deep.
It was the innocence in him he tried to keep.
The day the bullets raged,
I heard a cry;
A whimper,
So soft at first I heard it not,
Till its deafening silence filled the roar,
Of every bullet that tore and with it bore,
Angst and hate with every tear,
Those burning blasts oh the sear.
Through the school;
Floors like a blood red pool,
What fools, what fucking fools.
I'll always remember the day I heard him say,
"I've found love in what i hate,
But now I know its too late.
For the winds I pray,
Take me away
Take me away." |
